


Invisible Empire

by grey228



Category: Fade - Robert Cormier, Jumper Series - Steven Gould
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 11:02:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 361,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5331791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey228/pseuds/grey228
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stanley is an average kid - easily distracted, lazy, and unremarkable. Then he discovers he has not just a power, but several powers. Creepy abilities that can't be fully understood, or even mastered. Trouble begins when he starts using his powers, and in doing so, Stanley will meet Davey (from Steven Gould's 'Jumper' novel) and the Roget family (from Robert Cormier's 'Fade').</p><p>Many of the other characters are drawn from my personal past, although many more are simply stock characters (this is a porn story after all). I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Invisible Empire - Chapter 1


    ===============================================================================
      LEGAL DISCLAIMER
    ===============================================================================
    
    The following literary work is one of historic fiction. While certain elements may be recognized as based on actual events, the characters and personal events are fictitious. No actual persons were involved in the creation of this fictional work, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is pure coincidence.
    
    Certain characters portrayed within this work are copyrighted to Gould (1993) and Cormier (1988). The author wishes to express his deep gratitude towards the aforementioned authors for giving him creative inspiration when still a young man, and to stretch his imaginations beyond one's own reality. For this, and the countless other aspiring writers in the mainstream and underground markets you've inspired, the author sincerely thanks you. No malice or slight was intended by the willful inclusion of your marvelous creations into this work.
    
    This work is intended for adults, and features situations, dialogue, and descriptions that are unsuitable for minors. Please be mindful of your local laws and customs in regards to distributing or dissemination of obscene material. Thank you.
    
    ===============================================================================
    
                 The dreams of youth are the regrets of maturity.
    
                                       -- Darkness (Legend, 1985)
    
    ===============================================================================
      AN INVISIBLE EMPIRE
    ===============================================================================
    
      You can see us, but you do not know where we are.
    
      You can hear us, but you do not know what we are.
    
      You can even speak with us, but you will not know who we are.
    
      We are an invisible empire, a secret kingdom, and we rule the world.
    
      Government is a pleasant facade -- one most of our kind can live with. We often just leave such niceties to the mundane. It's not like we don't care about our day to day needs; we can still die of starvation. We die of thirst, and of cold. Like all living creatures, we also die of sickness and old age.
    
      But where your kind needs to toil to earn your living, our kind may come by such basic necessities far more easily through theft or persuasion.
    
      So what exactly are we? We are the gifted and talented, and we exist on the fringe with preternatural abilities of psychokinesis, telepathy, teleportation, and invisibility. Some of us possess abilities beyond what can be described by the elementary physics currently known.
    
      In my case, I am quite ordinary, except for my ability to dull or excite another's mind. With limitations I can cause great physical and mental harm. As I grew, I found I could also control objects to a small degree. Some other individuals in our empire are simply a bit more gifted than 'normal'.
    
      Note we don't consider ourselves "paranormal" -- we also don't go around in battle dress uniforms or fancy costumes. It would be too conspicuous and a definite death sentence. This is the one rule that remained constant.
    
      I ranked as a rarity amongst the telepaths, as there are a majority of us who are only capable of receiving. Their sensitivity varies, but empaths can only take in thoughts from others. Some can control their gift, some cannot. The sad thing is that for those who cannot pose a threat -- they could reveal our existence to outsiders.
    
      Empaths who manifest their powers and cannot control them "vanish". Have you ever wondered about instances of missing children? The countless ones in the United States alone who go missing are not always victim of sexual offenders, disgruntled parents, or odd strangers. Some are victims culled for the safety of the empire.
    
      Most of the empaths I know have passive personalities; very few are aggressive at all, unless they happen to absorb the thoughts of a homicidal or disturbed 'normal'.
    
      Then there are the psychokineticists. Among our kind, kineticists are uncommon -- of that minority, telekineticists are the most common. The more strength one's ego may project, the fewer equals he (or she) will find. Rarer still are pyrokineticists (fire). I suspect it was one particular pyrokineticist who inspired a well known horror author to write his novel. Rarer still were cryokineticists (cold) and even a hemeokineticist (blood), which leads me to believe that is an explanation of the source of some stories about Old World vampires.
    
      Mind control is what we telepaths do best. We can obscure a 'normal's' thoughts, and, given enough time and work, we can even re-write them. Ever see someone who did crazy things? Chances are they might've met one of our more malicious members. We don't consider them blackguards.
    
      Within our ranks, the only crime that mattered was discovery.
    
      While we are formidable in our abilities, our kind understands that we are outnumbered. Discovery means we would be hunted down and killed. We suspect that may have happened before in times past -- if there was a pogrom against the supernatural, it might've been one of our kind who showed off their abilities too much.
    
      The Salem witch trials were likely the result of such a discovery. Whether or not the individual escaped is unknown. It is this risk of discovery that holds us in check. But there is more to this than simply mind tricks. Others have other gifts which manifest in different ways. Perhaps you've heard of them?
    
      David Reese -- or David Rice in more intimate circles -- the jumper. To the extent of my knowledge, he's probably the only one who is semi-officially "well known". His talent of teleportation (literally displacing his body) was what got him caught by the United States' NSA. Fortunately, his knowledge of the rest of us amounts to nothing. Nothing apart from the lies Tseng and I have told him.
    
      The man known only as Tseng is a mystery. His name is likely an alias, as I know of no Anglicized Chinese surname in that fashion. He was one of the few who everyone in the empire knew of; if we had a more open structure, you might consider him an "emperor" of sorts, although he rejects that notion.
    
      All I know is that if he knows you, you're either a threat to him or you will be. The mere mention of his name gives most of us who know of him pause.
    
      It was he who took control after the Russian's excesses in the 1970s. And apart from Rice, Tseng is possibly the only one of us to have knowingly worked with the NSA, although he never showed off more than what he needed to achieve his ends. Tseng is perhaps the most potent of all of us. He is also one of the most hunted men on earth.
    
      Of the Russian, I know only of his tale second-hand, and principally from the man who "killed" him. According to Tseng, the Russian's name was Pyotr and his crimes were horrific -- or so goes the claim. The Russian stole minds by psychically displacing the consciousness of one individual with his own. How many years had he lived or people he had lived through can't be guessed at.
    
      The Russian supposedly met his end at Chernobyl in 1986. Tseng wanted to assassinate the physical brain and the psychic after-image. Chernobyl was the snare that destroyed the criminal's mind and poisoned any victims he could try to displace. A telepath can hope to cheat death by using a mindswap technique but raw nuclear power (according to Tseng) stopped the nightmare.
    
      Then there were a score of the gifted who lived during my time. Of those, I only knew a handful personally -- and of that handful, I was closest with Phillipa Roget. She had a most peculiar condition, but it was that same condition that made her gifted in the first place. The Roget clan's gift for disappearing from the visible spectrum would have destined them to fulfill great roles in espionage before the age of thermal cameras and pressure-based motion sensors. However, those family members who used this gift couldn't adjust to the nature of the world around them, and they would slowly go mad. This, coupled with Phillipa's Catholic upbringing, denied the girl her full potential until we met.
    
      But this brief narrative isn't about faders, jumpers, shifters, or even stoppers; it's about how I met each and every one of them, and how we wound up with the way things are now. I am Stanley Chen and this is my story.
    
    ===============================================================================
      YOUTHFUL SPRING -- A STARTLING DISCOVERY
    ===============================================================================
    
      My own story could've begun on my the date of my birth, but I wasn't really aware of my gift until later. I started tuning into other's thoughts and feelings while I was in elementary school, and I was smart enough to know that something wasn't all the normal. It was in the elementary school yard I learned I could stand in the middle of a crowd and remain invisible.
    
      As the late Ralph Ellison so aptly wrote, "I am invisible ... simply because people refuse to see me."
    
      In my case, I nudged that notion along just a little more. George Lucas coined the term Jedi Mind Trick. I later learned that it was simply survival in this hateful world.
    
      There is a triumvirate of schools in my neighborhood. A high school (grades 9 to 12, with student ages roughly 14 to 17) was sited on four city blocks between the main boulevard, 32nd, 30th, and Balboa avenues. Across the street was the middle school (grades 6 to 8, and ages roughly 11 to 13) and the elementary school (grades K to 5, ages roughly 5 to 10) was no more than five blocks away from the high school. That said, my 'class' of people had a fairly strong sense of community despite living in the big city.
    
      I was dimly aware of my power, having the occasional precognitive dream (I still do), and sometimes hearing (or thought I've heard) things from girls -- those lovely, fabulous girls -- who were classmates (now co-workers and associates). Despite my power, I was still chiefly a loner. I had few people I could call on, and even fewer friends.
    
      My knack for knowing things about girls (especially the pretty ones) marked me as an eavesdropper or with some suspicion by my mates. This simply isolated me more. This isolation did do some good as much as bad; while I was alone, I also had time to study my gift.
    
      All this changed though, when I got tutelage. Despite my ability to tune into a 'normal's' thoughts, I sailed unremarkably through the lower grades and my mother had wanted me to excel. So she got it in her head to hire an older student from a college preparatory school from across town. For a meager $100 a month, this tutor was to sit through and assist me with my increased homework load once a week.
    
      I lived within walking distance to the three schools in our neighborhood. Hence this saved a ton of money when it came to transportation. When I started middle school, I had a small room downstairs, complete with a full bathroom. A small kitchenette was added when I graduated from middle school. It was so that I could learn to cook on my own. My parents rented out the space as soon as I moved out to my own place.
    
      For a young man with a penchant for mischief and gifted as I was, this gave me a degree of independence few others had.
    
      So it was early in February or March of my seventh grade when I met my second tutor. The first one had given up after two sessions. I found out later that I was transmitting my thoughts, which in turn, gave her migraines. The headaches I accidentally gave her agitated her so much that she left school soon after she quit as my tutor. I checked up on her a few years later and found -- thankfully -- she had survived without much injury, and was living as a mundane (if butter-face) housewife.
    
      My second tutor was the one who accelerated my gifts. It was fortuitous that she did, for if Janet Wu hadn't done so, I would not have met the first of my treasured darlings.
    
    ===============================================================================
      JANET STRIKES A BARGAIN
    ===============================================================================
    
      It was Janet's third session when I first felt the unmistakable upwelling of emotion. I was dazedly looking at my math book, with Janet droning absently about the concepts. She was simply reading the lines, hardly emoting at all.
    
      For a high school girl, Janet was all right. She was older than me by a good four years. From middle school, she had been accepted in the prestigious college preparatory school at the get-go. Only the top 10% of the 8th grade student body in the city qualified, and only about 3% get accepted. Janet was above average in intelligence, but she was only a 'normal'.
    
      She had black hair that was tinged blonde to give her that sense of 90s style (as that was in vogue at the time), and she wore a shade too much make-up for her own good. She was pretty but not beautiful. Her face was pear-shaped and she had a flat nose. This did not make her exceptional, although her choice of attire pleaded for attention.
    
      As Janet lectured, I felt she was distracted. And what was more, she was highly agitated. Thinking it was a repeat of the early tutor, I nodded along, hoping to get her out of the house soon so I could goof off and watch after-school cartoons.
    
      "So do you get it, Stanley?" she tapped a pencil on the red inked letters.
    
      "Yeah," I lied.
    
      "Sure you do," Janet snorted and pulled out my last test. "This is why you just got this 'D'."
    
      I nodded silently, not having a good reply.
    
      "Look guy, you're going to fail the class if you keep getting these scores."
    
      "But a 'D' is a barely pass," I chirped, "Why have it if I'm going to fail?"
    
      "Because that's how it's all done," Janet laughed. "You're only going to have worse when you go to the next grade."
    
      "That's bullstuff," I said. "I have to go to the bathroom."
    
      I started to get up and Janet rose to let me by. By accident, her hand brushed mine and she suddenly felt faint. I caught her, but since she was so much older than I, I struggled not to drop her.
    
      "I -- I -- I'm okay," she gasped, "I'm okay."
    
      "Are you sure, Janet?" I wasn't convinced. "If you're not feeling well maybe you should go."
    
      Yeah! Go! And let me goof off for the rest of the evening. Fuck math! Or, maybe not.
    
      I didn't know realize it immediately, but with Janet sitting on the floor of my study, I could see right down her black blouse. Her thin gold necklace dangled off her neck and hung just a breath away from her slick, perfumed skin. Trying to regain her balance, Janet had inadvertently allowed herself physical contact.
    
      Some 'normals' have a particular susceptibility to our 'thought-speech' and Janet was one of them. I must've transmitted some of my subconscious desire to explore my hithero dormant sexual desire with her. A serendipitous combination of my secret desire and her recent break-up with her boyfriend overwhelmed her sense of rhyme and reason.
    
      "Stanley?" Janet was still loosely holding my hand. "Do you want to make a little wager with me?"
    
      I stood over her, slowly learning what happened through observation (and later on, self-analysis).
    
      "Uh, sure," I was hesitant. "As long as it's not money."
    
      She looked up at me and smiled weakly, "It's not money."
    
      Janet got up, a little shaky but otherwise fine. I let her rest while I went off to the restroom. While I was doing my business, I felt my head throbbing as blood rushed all through my body. I was wondering what was going on with this stupid bimbo, fainting like that.
    
      Was she sick? Or in trouble? Man, I didn't want to piss off my mother by having her look for yet another tutor. I was so engrossed with my thoughts that I didn't hear someone come at me from behind. I almost jumped when I saw another pair of hands, reach around me and take hold of my little pre-teen dick.
    
      "What --?!" I was so startled I almost didn't have time to finish.
    
      "Don't move," Janet held me tightly.
    
      "Hel -- help," I said weakly. "You'd better --"
    
      "Quiet Stanley," her grip tightened just slightly.
    
      I winced, too afraid to move as I drained the rest of my liquid waste neatly into the toilet. We stood there in the restroom for a while. I wasn't sure how long. Janet's chin was on my shoulder, her lacquered nails in one hand bit slightly into my scrotum while her other hand held my penis tightly.
    
      As I felt her body pressing against my back, her hand holding my dick pulled back my foreskin. I had barely pulled it so far back before. I felt like my skin would split as Janet tugged on my little sausage. I must've made some noise because I felt her grip tighten on me again.
    
      I was wondering how to get out of this predicament when I began to notice that Janet's fondling actually felt quite pleasant. Sensing my body relax, she began massaging me. Having dropped my trousers completely, I reached back and touched her legs.
    
      "Okay Stanley," her hot breath was in my ear. "Here's the deal. You're going to get something better than money."
    
      Having exposed my penis head for the first time, she began scraping the smegma off with her fingernails. When she'd stop to flick off the stinking mess into the toilet bowl, she'd playfully nip the tip with two fingers. My dick began to stiffen from her delicate attention.
    
      "You score an 'A' grade on the next math test," Janet continued sweetly, "And I'll do this again for as long as you like next time."
    
      As I stood at rigid attention under her tender ministrations, I had a hundred questions in my head.
    
      Why was she doing this? How was she going to get away with it? And the ever important -- wait -- did she say as long as I want?
    
      I barely formed a coherent answer before I felt a strange new urge come over me. It was like pee, but it felt different. Very different. Janet didn't seem to notice as she massaged my little stiff dick between her charming fingers. She didn't really need to hear me answer. When I blasted my load all over the toilet cover, she had the answer she wanted.
    
    ===============================================================================
      DAMMIT. JANET. I LOVE YOU.
    ===============================================================================
    
      So it was with eager anticipation that I took to the next mid-term. Because of the tests across the district, Janet skipped seeing me for two weeks.
    
      "What a studious girl," my mother remarked.
    
      Yes. I thought. Fucking studious indeed.
    
      Since it was customary for my parents to drop in unannounced at my room (after all, I was a minor then), I had to finagle a time of day when Janet and I could expect some privacy. I was sure she had some ideas about what she could do next, but I had ideas of my own.
    
      As for the test, I understood enough of pre-algebra and geometry to pass the test, but nothing to exceed. For that, I finally focused on developing my extra-sensory skills instead. I found that by mild concentration, I could read the different answers off other tests simply by figuring the change in albedo of the surface. That was neat, except if I copied the answers as they were, I'd be cheating.
    
      Instead, I watched how the other students wrote out their answers. Rather than listening to a droning fat windbag, I was learning by both watching and doing. Maybe it was the teacher, or maybe the students I was learning from were better at teaching algebra on the level as I understood it. However it went, I aced the test (and improved my other homework).
    
      Shit. Who said slutty teachers fucking disinterested students was not motivational?
    
      So it was after school on Thursday when I hit the shower so early in the afternoon. As Janet phoned me on Wednesday to plan for our next "tutoring" session, she whispered, 'Take a shower and clean up everywhere, got that?'
    
      Remembering what she did last time, I did exactly that with due vigilance. I had finished drying myself and just finished putting on some clean, dryer fresh clothes when I heard the doorbell ring. I eagerly let her in and waited with bated breath as she looked through my homework and tests.
    
      "So," Janet leaned back in her chair, "You were too lazy to do the work, to have been failing like that."
    
      "I guess so," I remarked as casually as I could. I was all ready for whatever she had in store.
    
      "So I guess a deal's a deal," she threw me a quick grin.
    
      "Yeah. So," I had to sate my curiosity, "Are you sure this is okay? Won't you get in trouble?"
    
      "We'll be okay, as long as we're not disturbed," she replied. "When did you say your parents would be home?"
    
      "They're visiting my father's family," I said truthfully. "I declined to go but they'll be back around eight or nine or whenever they're done with dinner."
    
      "So you're home alone?"
    
      "Yep."
    
      "You're pretty mature," Janet shrugged and sniffed.
    
      I noticed she was wearing a tan trench coat, despite the sunny weather. She had her book bag along, but she also had a small gym bag. Instead of the white moccasins she normally wore, she had donned a pair of black, steel-tipped boots. I could see skin just above the boots.
    
      "You know Stanley," she said quietly, "I could get to like this little room of yours."
    
      "Oh yeah?" I wondered at her sudden interest. None of my friends had seen my room, chiefly because I had no close friends.
    
      Janet looked at me and smiled. "You know, you're not a bad looking guy. Do you have a girlfriend?"
    
      "No," I felt my cheeks flush.
    
      "Would you like one?"
    
      "What?" I stammered.
    
      "Would you like a girlfriend," Janet repeated. "I mean not like all the time, but you know, maybe someone you could --"
    
      Now it was she who became embarrassed. She cleared her throat to scatter the awkward silence between us.
    
      "Look, don't worry about it," she said. "If you don't want to."
    
      "No way," I put my hand on her shoulder, "I mean it -- I want to."
    
      "Okay," Janet smiled a little then said, "Why don't you get on the bed."
    
      My study had a bed. It was placed there when the inner area of my room (the area with the bathroom, and later the kitchenette) was still a storage area. I sat up in the bed and watched as Janet undid her trench coat. She must've found my expression funny, because she giggled audibly.
    
      "Like it?" she held her coat open.
    
      "You weren't wearing anything under that?" I gasped.
    
      "Of course I am," Janet crawled over me and whispered fiercely in my ear. "I'm wearing perfume."
    
      I groaned as she settled herself over my body. Already I could feel my pants tighten as my dick hardened appreciably. I could smell not just Janet's perfume but her nutty, intoxicating scent. Despite being older, she was roughly the same size as me. Like an amateur, I reached over her trench coat to hold her as she pressed her body against me. After a little gyration, she slipped off the coat so I was holding nothing but her sweet, supple flesh.
    
      "Oh yeah," I bucked my hips against hers, "Oh yeah. This is good."
    
      "Good, huh?" Janet's face hovered over mine. "It gets better."
    
      "How?" I asked hoarsely.
    
      "Let me show you."
    
      Janet slid herself down my body, undoing my dress shirt and then unbuttoning my jeans. I watched her ass rise up above her head as she tugged my pants down. I felt her warm breath on my groin and thighs. I watched her inspect my nether regions carefully before she softly kissed my stomach and hips.
    
      I groaned and held my head up to watch as Janet put kisses on my belly and chest. As she worked towards my head, I felt her body hanging just within touch of my stiff dick. When Janet swayed her body from one side to the other, her stomach would occasionally scrape my penis. Her developing breasts, small as they were, still excited me. Her erect nipples brushed across my body as she crawled over me.
    
      "You like?" Janet breathed hotly in my face.
    
      I answered her only by savagely kissing her and gripping her ass tightly. I was so eager, I didn't even think about the consequences later. Janet gagged slightly then quickly acquiesced to my assault. Her mouth yielded to me. I felt her tongue fight mine only briefly before she began enticing me with lewd motions.
    
      My blood was pumping as I felt my cock angle sharply between Janet's ass cheeks. Instinctively, my hips began thrusting. My dick was slippery with the pre-cum already oozing from its hole. I saw Janet's eyes widen with fear as I slid my meat sausage over her bare ass crack. Panting heavily, she broke off kissing me, her mind obviously wracked with indecision. I later realized this was partly my fault. Having that much physical contact between us was not a good idea.
    
      Janet was half sitting, half squatting over my body as my hips kept up their thrusting. Finally realizing that I was in no position to risk her getting pregnant, she allowed me to continue my naive method of fucking. She placed one hand on my chest and the other on her ass. This way, she sandwiched my cock between her sweet ass and her equally sweet hand and let my lust run its course.
    
      Of course, I tried to make it last. But honestly, how long was your first few times?
    
      "Aah -- aaah -- aaaAAAARRRRRRGGGHHHHHHHHH!"
    
      I thrust so hard against Janet that she gave a short cry of alarm when her body shot up briefly in the air. I felt two weeks of pent up lust flow through my lower body into her waiting hands and back. Her mouth was wide open and she was as breathless as if she had spent herself as well. Her hand milked my slowly shrinking dick, as if urging it to squeeze out what little gunk was left in my body. Janet leaned over me, licking the fingers of her hand that milked my now soft boner. Still caught up in the height of lust, she kissed me fully on the lips, sharing her spit and my cum.
    
      "That felt good," I said as she began kissing my neck.
    
      "Yeah well, if you do this well in school like all the time," she said. "I don't think you'll need more tutoring."
    
      "No more?" I felt my heart sink.
    
      "Of course no more 'tutoring'," Janet sat up and tossed her hair aside. "I mean that in a good way."
    
      "What do you mean by that?"
    
      "I mean no more tutoring you about school stuff," my tutor put her arms akimbo. "But I'm still going to fuck your brains out."
    
    ===============================================================================
      A COUGAR IN THE MAKING
    ===============================================================================
    
      In the months that lead to Janet's 18th birthday, I found out what a pedophile was.
    
      "You're kidding me right?" I stood awkwardly on the sea wall. Janet and I both strolled along the beach as she mulled over the fate of the next four years.
    
      "Do I look like I'm kidding?" She did her best to brush aside her long hair. It was a hard thing to do, as her hands were tucked into her sweater's sleeves to shield them from the chilly wind on the sand swept promenade.
    
      "See this?" Janet's eyes squinted and her lips thinned, "This is my serious face."
    
      "I know," I wrapped my arm around her ample ass, "Because I know that's not your O-face."
    
      She pushed me away and pointed her sweater covered fist at me, "You want me to get arrested?!"
    
      "Of course not," I gave her an assuring grin, "But who'd tell?"
    
      "Well my ex-boyfriend for one," she felt sorry and accepted my hug. "You know -- the guy who dumped me when I met you."
    
      Janet ignored my attempts to engage her in some impromptu groping.
    
      "Besides," she continued, "I need to go to college anyway."
    
      "Yeah."
    
      We both fell silent about that. Despite our relationship, that Janet took money to feign tutoring and having sex with me felt more like prostitution. She and I never brought it up, but I got that feeling from her. When I started actively courting her, she kindly asked me to stop and wait a few years.
    
      "So we can't do it again until I'm eighteen," I mused.
    
      "And I'm twenty-two," her hug around me tightened.
    
      I didn't want to think about it. She would meet someone else, as would I. She didn't need to be telepathically gifted to know that.
    
      "I want to come with you," I gripped her tight.
    
      "Sure," she laughed, "Just get another scholarship."
    
      So it was at a beach hotel where we made what we thought was a final stab at love the weekend before her birthday. Janet and I both lied to our parents about being with friends at a camp site, but in actuality, we were simply sharing a hotel room for three days, sight-seeing and touring the boardwalk by day, and throwing ourselves at each other at night.
    
      A year after she left for university, Janet became a pederast, although you didn't hear it from me. She came home for a visit after finals and looked me up. I met Janet at the beach and we chatted amicably. We were both sophomores, but she was in college, and I in high school.
    
      When she drove me back to my house (her parents loaned her their car for her stay), it was pretty late. Since she wasn't going to be leaving for another few days (it was the winter holiday), I suggested that she bunk for the night and head out tomorrow, preferably before my parents woke up. Janet's eyes twinkled, because she must've been thinking about mischief.
    
      "Sure thing, Stanley," her voice was cool.
    
      I put her up in the warmer inner room (the outer room that had my study and old bed was colder) and crawled into my chilly bed. It wasn't long before I felt something shaking my bed. I was groggy and didn't realize what was going on until I felt Janet's icy hands around me.
    
      "Wha -- what're you--"
    
      "Don't move," Janet repeated the line when she first seduced me.
    
      "It's pretty late," I mumbled.
    
      "I know," she clutched me tightly, "I want you to give me something."
    
      "Can't it wait till tomorrow?"
    
      "No."
    
      I felt her crawl over me. My hand brushed her bare skin and I realized she had readied herself for action. My dick instantly responded as I felt Janet's hands undo my pajamas. Her breasts had grown only a little in the three years since I'd known her, but they still did amazing things when pressed into service.
    
      "I'm probably not going to be able to come back so much anymore," she admitted as she straddled me.
    
      "Why?" I stroked her gently.
    
      "Because it's getting expensive," she murmured, "I might have to stay in Chicago."
    
      My hands slid across her sides, my thoughts churning.
    
      "Will I see you again?" That was the only thing I could say.
    
      "When I strike it rich," she whispered, "I'll get us our own place."
    
      "That'd be like old times," I kissed her shoulder.
    
      I didn't need to be a telepath to know she was crying. I heard her tears drip onto my pillow. We stayed like that for a little while, her nude form splayed over mine. I did my best to dull her sadness, but it was rather hard because I was feeling the same way too. It's difficult to project thoughts on others when you yourself feel differently at the time!
    
      Janet sniffed, "Anyway, I want you to give me something."
    
      "What?"
    
      "Do it in me," she whispered softly.
    
      My silence must've worried her, because she repeated it again.
    
      "Wait," I rolled her off and sat up. I looked at her in the dim light and asked, "Are you sure about that?"
    
      Janet took my hand and placed it on her cheek so I could feel her nod.
    
      "But --"
    
      "Hey, I was thinking about this right after exams were done, every day to the airport, and the whole plane ride back," she murmured, "I took precautions."
    
      "What kind of precautions?" I asked.
    
      "Well a diaphragm," she said flatly. "And birth control pills this morning. And some spermicide before I called."
    
      "Holy moly," I stammered, "I don't know what to say."
    
      "Don't say anything," Janet sat up and kissed me, "Don't say anything, okay?"
    
      "Because you're a pedophile?" I chided her.
    
      "Oh Stanley," she chuckled, "You sick joking fucker."
    
      "Yeah Janet," I let out a breath and kissed her, "You turn me on."
    
      Janet settled back down on the bed. Despite the cold, our naked bodies had simmered the bed warm enough that we felt a little stuffy under the heavy blankets. We stripped away everything save the satin sheets and I felt my body fit easily onto her.
    
      "Oh -- oh -- oh -- oh," Janet's ass began to sway and buckle against me.
    
      I felt my prick stand up and work against the soft folds of her pussy. We've always had some barrier between us. Before she left for college, we avoided traditional contraceptives, opting for Saran Wrap (that clear plastic crap for food storage) when we made love. Still, not even the sheer thinness of saran wrap could match the unspoiled touch of flesh.
    
      I grunted and groaned, enjoying the sheer delight of finally penetrating my woman as nature intended. Janet's palms pressed against my sides and back, cajoling, coaxing, and teasing me to proceed as much as I dared. Her lips parted briefly and I kissed her lightly as I began pushing deeper.
    
      "Oh -- oh -- OH!!"
    
      Janet's nails dug into my back, spurring me to hilt myself into her warm depths. I eagerly complied and began plumbing her tight moist fuck pot. Without having nuzzled, licked, or tongued Janet's puss, she was all ready for me to shove my fuck stick into her. Sopping, gurgling, sucking sounds came from the beneath the covers, but it was dismissed as we grunted and groaned, our bodies making the old bed creak with our effort.
    
      I felt Janet wanting me to thrust her, fuck her deeply, passionately, and without regard for what may come. Her mind certainly reached out while she swooned in ecstasy. Filthy, wanton thoughts wafted into my consciousness from the writhing woman beneath me. Details were sketchy, but I received blurs of her mind:
    
      Janet swaddling a baby to her swollen breasts.  Money. Cars. A big house. A vision of how she saw me -- a lanky young man with a face in disbelief as she deep throated my cock. And even a hazy scene of her sitting on a public toilet while I slammed her relentlessly with the sound of jet turbines overhead. I assumed that last thought was that she wanted me to fuck her right up to the minute her flight to Chicago was boarding.
    
      "Unh -- ungh," I panted breathlessly as Janet urged me on.
    
      "F -- fuu -- fuuu-uck -- m -- mm -- me," she kissed the nape of my neck.
    
      I kept pumping her, trying to prolong the time we could stay together by not doing her bidding. That'd meant she'd have to stay until I did, right? Janet's legs clutched my hips and her bare ankles began shoving my butt into her in rhythm with each stroke. I knew I couldn't last long, but I held out with sheer will power.
    
      What finally broke me was when Janet glared at me, her mind revealing the depth of her perversity: 'I wish he'd hurry up so I could see how much I could scrape out with my finger.' 'I want to show him his sex scuzz and make him taste it.' 'God, I hope I won't get pregnant.'
    
      "UFFUCK!" I lurched so suddenly when I came, Janet had to bite down on my neck to keep from screaming.
    
      I felt her breath and saliva scald my flesh with a searing hot pain. I felt my balls drain themselves dry as I literally wrecked the inside of her pussy with tank loads of baby spray.
    
      Janet was so eager, so willing, and so unabashed about what would happen to her body, she was practically begging me to do her justice and I happily obliged. Her cunt sponged up all the scrotum slop my frail teenage body could manufacture. I shuddered and felt her quim ripple-fuck my rapidly deflating dick.
    
      "Oh, that was good," her exhaled breath cooled the angry bite she inflicted on my neck, "So -- goddamn -- good."
    
    ===============================================================================
      INTERLUDE -- A SCHOOL FAIR
    ===============================================================================
    
      Despite her moving out of state, Janet and I kept in touch after that night. We could only meet occasionally there after until we reunited. As time passed, we needed each other both emotionally and physically. Still, I realized that by being with her, I put her in danger.
    
      I was a telepath, destined to live an invisible existence, hunted by interested parties. I would live as great man, but my existence would be known only to others of my kind -- if you knew and weren't one of us -- you do not have long to live.
    
      Janet Wu was born to be a career woman. A predator in the business world, she preyed on weak business men who would divulge the most sensitive secrets after a flash of underwear, a brief flash of tit, and a furious ass-grinding lap dance.
    
      She pursued -- and thrived in -- business law, her aggressiveness awakened by psychic catalyst. Her career suited her well, and on occasion, I'd let slip some handy information I gleaned with my telepathy as well so she needn't work her body so hard. Janet was always reciprocated generously. Her sex drive increased three-fold after successfully winning a case. It wasn't simple nostalgia I harbored for Janet, for she was my First.
    
      With Janet unavailable, I sailed onto high school without much of a thought. By now, my little brother (who was a few years younger than I due to my parents' previous estrangement) had been attending the elementary school near our house for some time now. I made an effort to volunteer and get some extra-curricular activities for my upcoming college applications.
    
      It was December when I met my youngest darling. A few months had passed since school started and I was at my brother's school's holiday fundraiser. Back in the 1990s, these things were increasing as spending went down. I basically showed up and was tasked with over-seeing a beanie throwing tic-tac-toe booth. About an hour into it, a small lovely girl with doe eyes and peachy skin skipped up to me.
    
      "Hello," she gave me a shy grin. "What's your name?"
    
      "Stanley," I managed to squeeze out a reply.
    
      "Oh, okay," she wrote my name on her dainty palm.
    
      "Hey don't do that," I grabbed a piece of scrap of paper, "Write on this instead."
    
      "That's okay," she said brightly, "It'll come off later."
    
      "What'd you need my name for?" I asked.
    
      "Because everyone who's helping needs a name tag," she flashed me a cute smile.
    
      I could see she was missing one of her baby teeth.
    
      "And you're in charge of this?" I asked.
    
      "Of course," she waved and turned to go.
    
      "Hey wait," I stood and absently passed out another ticket to the next visitor, "What's your name?"
    
      "It's Chen!"
    
      Before I could say more, she had gone.
    
    ===============================================================================
      LUNCH WITH A YOUNG DARLING
    ===============================================================================
    
      It was more than past noon when I decided to step out for lunch. I walked by the fundraiser's concierge when someone tapped me from behind. Chen was there, her small hand holding this little homemade badge with my name on it: STANLY. Helper.
    
      "Thanks," I gingerly took it from her, "But it's spelled S-T-A-N-L-E-Y."
    
      "Oh," her bright eyes dipped as she mumbled, "I'm sorry."
    
      I felt a dizzying wave of sadness wash over me. I had to lean against the concierge table to stop myself my fainting.
    
      What emotion! Not since Janet had I dared to use my gifts, and here now of all places, this fey girl who barely matched my height when I was sitting was taking me out with her mind.
    
      Or was she? I could see Chen's eyes beginning to well up and I slowly gathered that it was probably another bad reaction to my psychic broadcasting. I did my best to shake off the nausea.
    
      Gathering myself, I asked, "That's all right Chen. Are you okay?"
    
      Hearing me say her name must've shaken her out of her depressive reverie. She nodded slightly. Although I had only met her briefly, I felt a strong emotional attachment to this little girl. I wondered if she knew my brother --
    
      "Andrew?" Chen chirped, "I don't know who he is."
    
      I blinked at her sudden answer. Later, she confessed to me that she too was surprised with her answer as well -- surprised and a little more than frightened.
    
      "Well, I'm going to head out for a little lunch. I'll be back later," I started to leave the auditorium, "Would you like to come along?"
    
      Chen hesitated only slightly before she followed me back to my house. In a short while, I was in my remodeled room, an older boy like myself cooking a cozy meal for a school girl two-thirds my age.
    
      "So your parents named you Chen? What kind of a name is that?"
    
      Chen sat a the small table for two in the kitchenette, her legs dangling, her little mitts gripping a box of Vita-Soy.
    
      "I dun-wo," she sipped a mouthful of sweet soy milk and played 'pufferfish', swishing the contents in her small mouth before swallowing.
    
      "I mean people just call you Chen?" I asked.
    
      "My mommy calls me Yu-Ching," she burped, "But my teacher calls me Chen all the time."
    
      "I see," I set the stovetop from boil to simmer and turned to her. "Chen is your family name. In America, it's your last name."
    
      "Oh okay."
    
      I knew Chen's box of soy milk emptied out, as her constant slurping became more audible.
    
      "Do you want another wai-ta-lai*?" I asked. [* Cantonese: soy milk, Vita brand.]
    
      "No thank you," the little girl shook her head.
    
      I admired Chen's frank forwardness in trusting a stranger like me. But then again, our neighborhood was one of the safest in the city, if not the whole state. I didn't look like anyone dangerous. In fact, to Western eyes, I looked more like Chen's older brother than a stranger.
    
      She was wearing simple clothing common to every schoolgirl back then. A long sleeved light yellow blouse, matching ivory long dress and dainty red shoes with white laces and bobby socks. Her jet black hair was tied back by a blue-white hair tie. Her only jewelry was her Hello Kitty wristwatch.
    
      Chen helped set the table once she saw I had placed bowls where she and I would sit. She was meticulous in her table setting, and something I believe her mother had raised her to do.
    
      "Here we are. Two bowls of yook-soong-mein*," I set the bowls on the table. [* Cantonese: shredded meat with noodle in broth.]
    
      Steam made Chen's face a little sweaty and before long, her cheeks had a healthful red flush to them. We chatted as we ate, and I learned who my little guest was. Little Chen was just a regular student, albeit a hyper-empathic one. As it turned out, she turned out to be more special than everyone believed.
    
      She asked me about the older grades, homework, and why I was at her school. I answered as truthfully as I could and she hung onto every word like it was the gospel. I asked Chen about her: where she was from, if she had any siblings, and what Saturday morning cartoons she liked.
    
      As she talked, I admired her polite demeanor, gentle mannerism, and her aristocratic air of civility. I was amazed at Chen's skill in wielding her chopsticks and her soft-spoken Cantonese. During my time with Janet, we spoke mostly in English because we were more comfortable with it.
    
      Being with Chen, I felt as if I had discovered a part of me I thought I had lost growing up in America. Despite my fascination with this child beauty, I was still cautious. I wondered how she was able to predict and answer my question back in the school auditorium.
    
      I hadn't touched her did I?
    
      No. I didn't. I was sure of it.
    
      I was sure Janet was not able to sense my thoughts -- I tested that quite a few times by visualizing her with several other girls from my school when I intimate with her. If she did see my conscious thoughts, she would've clocked me (and rightly so).
    
      So how did such a young girl like Chen read my mind?
    
      I experimented while she slowly finished her bowl of noodles. I thought of several despicable things and waited for her to react. Nothing.
    
      I pictured her nude and waited if she'd react. Nothing.
    
      I thought of the knife I used to slice the meat to cut her tiny throat. Amazingly -- nothing.
    
      I sat in my chair, twiddling my chopsticks thinking about Chen. My thoughts must've wandered as I let my gaze go from her tiny hands to her pretty little face. As I watched her drain her bowl of soup, her lips clinging to the edge of the bowl reminded me of Janet's sweet lips encircling my meat stick. The thought of Janet made me woozy, and then --
    
      "Stanley? Who is Janet?"
    
      I blinked and stared at Chen. She stared back, equally surprised.
    
      "How did you know that?" I asked cautiously.
    
      "I dunno," Chen shrugged, "I hear things."
    
      "Hear things? What things?" I gave her my most disarming grin. "And how many things do you hear?"
    
      "I dunno," she gave me one of those maddeningly confusing shrugs again but replied with, "I sometimes don't know what they say."
    
      "They?" I felt my back straighten in alarm.
    
      "They," Chen repeated vaguely.
    
      "Who?" I pressed the question. "Who are 'they'?"
    
      "People in school," she said, "My teacher says I should pay attention more."
    
      Chen appeared glum, so I tried to cheer her up. This little girl aroused my curiosity. I wondered if she was as good as me in this gift. Mistaking my silent musing for something else, Chen reached out and touched my hand.
    
      "Stanley," Chen asked quietly, "Do you want me to make you another badge?"
    
      "Don't worry about that," I said, "I like it."
    
      "Really?" her eyes rose to meet mine.
    
      "Yes, because you made it for me."
    
      "Oh."
    
      I felt her excitement rise as did the beating of her heart. A quiet little moment passed before she began to yawn. Her eyelids drooped a bit and she began to nod off.
    
      "I'm sleepy," she murmured.
    
      I glanced at the time. It was nearly 1:50. My dad was at work on the swing shift, my mom and brother at the fundraiser. It couldn't hurt to take a short nap. I mean, it was volunteers anyway. Screw them if volunteers couldn't take five.
    
      "Do your parents know you're at the school fundraiser?" I asked her.
    
      "My mommy won't be home until six," she stifled another yawn, "I go home for supper."
    
      "Where do you live?"
    
      Her home, as it turned out, was right next to the elementary school. Small wonder she didn't mind following me home. She probably regarded it as nothing but a stroll a few blocks more! Since my parents added the kitchenette and sealed off more of the garage for my room, I had a comfortable sofa that fit Chen perfectly.
    
      I carried her there and she fell fast asleep. I draped a small blanket over her serene form and cleaned up. After washing up, I found myself somewhat tired as well. Perhaps it was Chen's presence that induced my tiredness. I didn't know for sure then, or now. Before I could do much more, I found myself catching a nap in a chair next to Chen.
    
    ===============================================================================
      A DARLING EDUCATION
    ===============================================================================
    
      I awoke a little later and tried to focus my eyes. The clock read a little after 3:20.
    
      Great. I'm sure to be missed back there at the school.
    
      I tried to get up and found I had some extra weight on me. What the --?
    
      I saw Chen had somehow gotten herself on top of me while I was sleeping. She immediately stirred when I tried to move her.
    
      "Hey Chen," I nudged her, "Time to get up."
    
      "Don't wanna," she whimpered and refused to budge.
    
      "I should get you back home," I soothed her.
    
      "My mommy isn't home," Chen gave me a little tantrum. "I wanna stay wif'you."
    
      I relented. As I received what I could of her thoughts, I knew she was supposed to be the only child of her family. She was the result of the Republic of China's one family, one child policy. Much later, I realized how lucky she was; less sophisticated parents would've had her aborted or abandoned. Instead of staying in Guangdong, her parents immigrated to the United States to have a better life, and for them to rear a second child (Chen's brother Yu Wah).
    
      After some E.S.L., Chen entered the regular classes. She didn't know who Andrew was (he was my little brother). That was no surprise; Andrew was in the district's gifted and on an accelerated program (although he wasn't extraordinarily 'gifted' as I was). I felt she was very lonely. Both her parents were were out working or taking care of the baby and what few relatives she had in America were no where nearby.
    
      Feeling her weight atop me, I gingerly placed my hand on hers. She took it instinctively, and I felt an upwelling of understanding between us. It was as if she was drawn towards my psychic emanations. Her rhythmic breathing bestowed on me a calmness that surpassed any drug, man-made or otherwise. The soft rustling of her exhaled breath bettered that of a gentle breeze of a spring day.
    
      I finally found out Little Chen what was, although for the longest time, I could only guess what she was. To have gotten a definitive answer then, I would have had to rely on people I didn't trust, and Yu-Ching's life was far more important than a little mystery. What I did know was that she was sensitive to other's feelings, and she's easily affected by negativity around her. Chen's mood manifested itself from her surroundings. But since our neighborhood was still pretty decent and safe, it didn't psychically cripple her childhood.
    
      As I held her hand, I took a barometer to her emotions. I felt her joy as she met me at the school. I felt her joy peak as she carefully penned my name and had it pressed into a badge. I felt her alarm when it was pointed out that she had misspelled a name -- a name that came to be very important to her. And I felt the wealth of acceptance when this same student invited her to --
    
      "A date." I blinked when I heard her answer.
    
      Chen stroked my hand with hers as she lay atop me. I doubt she even knew what the word meant. My other arm was free, and she moved it so I was now embracing her, as a man would any woman he loved.
    
      "Did we do it?" she asked.
    
      I had to chuckle at her naivete.
    
      "No, we didn't," I soothed her.
    
      "Oh," she murmured.
    
      I couldn't see Chen's face, but I was sure she was wide awake. Her breathing quickened as she sat up on my lap.
    
      "Who is Janet?" It was that question again. I did my best to explain to her, keeping my tone even and calm. I explained that Janet was my girlfriend.
    
      "Oh," Chen fiddled with her hands, "Did you do it with her?"
    
      "What's all this about 'doing it'?" I measured out my words. "How do you know about that?"
    
      "I heard it from boys in Mrs. Spreckler's class," she murmured.
    
      I didn't know any of the teachers at Andrew's school, nor did I care to.
    
      "You do know what that means right?" I prodded her.
    
      "I dunno," she said quietly. "I think it's something boys and girls do. Like they do on TV."
    
      "It can be," I admitted, "But why'd you come with me?"
    
      Chen glanced at me coyly and mumbled, "I thought you wanted to do it with me."
    
      A mild shock hit my body. Had my thoughts turned this little kid into a nymphomaniac? Janet's horror stories about jail time came back to haunt me, but I managed to hold off any panic.
    
      "I'm sure you're very nice Chen," I said calmly, "But you are a little young to be doing that."
    
      "Really?" she wore an expression of curiosity, not persecution.
    
      "Yes," I said. "Really."
    
      "Did you and Janet do it?" she asked.
    
      "Yes." Incredibly, I felt great embarrassment answering Chen's question.
    
      "Oh," she rubbed her nose to stifled an itch, then asked, "Can you do it with me?"
    
      "Well I --" I snapped my mouth shut.
    
      Janet and I started when she was sixteen and I was only twelve. Chen was earnestly a little too young, but then again -- I studied her carefully both physically and psychologically.
    
      Chen was naive in mind and a virgin in body. Ah, to love this little treasure when she was Janet's age would be grand. But she was so eager now. I phrased my replies with care.
    
      "Well, I was older than you," I said with confidence.
    
      Chen's cute cheeks dimpled as she knitted her brow. She apparently went into deep thought.
    
      "How old was Janet?" she finally asked.
    
      "She was older than you too," I answered.
    
      The little girl was hardly satisfied with such a nebulous answer.
    
      "Can you do it with me?" she pressed the issue. "I just want to see!"
    
      I hesitated. Then, remembering some pictures of Janet I had, I decided to sate Chen's appetite for the curious and return her underage butt to the school before her parents hauled me off for kidnapping.
    
      "Here," I took out a small photo album. "This is Janet when she wants to do it."
    
      After that one torrid winter's night, Janet had left for Chicago and stayed there. When summer came around, I didn't expect much save her usual monthly correspondence, but she sent me two dozen nude Polaroid pictures of her. Her letter said how much she missed me and that none of the guys seemed to spark half the interest she had in me.
    
      About halfway down on the first page of that letter, Janet confessed how she fantasized about lingering in lecture halls after class and then describing stuff one might find in a made-up "Letter to Penthouse."
    
      I didn't show Chen any of Janet's letters, but I leafed through the album. Janet had snapped the pictures herself. To insure she wouldn't appear blurry, she had to adopt some standard poses which made her a little more blase than normal. However, this suited Chen fine. The young girl examined Janet's nudes intently, her eyes following where I pointed out details.
    
      Chen asked the usual questions: why is there hair there? Are they always that dark? How big do these become?
    
      It was only when she finally said, "I wish I could see you and Janet do it," that I decided enough was enough.
    
      "I don't know Chen," I closed the album and slid her off my lap. "I think we should go back to the school."
    
      "But I don't wanna," she refused to budge. That's when she began to whine.
    
      "Please?" she clasped her tiny hands together, "Pretty please? I promise I won't tell!"
    
      Right the hell on you won't, I thought to myself.
    
      "Your mom and dad would be angry if they found out," I remarked.
    
      "wo-ngwui-kgwong*!" Chen was so excited she slipped into our native tongue. [* Cantonese: I won't say anything!]
    
      I glanced at her warily. Still wondering if it was the best thing to do, I took both her hands and took on a serious "grown-up" voice.
    
      "Okay, but you have to agree to a few things," I said evenly. "If you say, 'No' to any one of them, we go back to school, okay?"
    
      Chen must've picked up on my eagerness in showing her, so she nodded quickly.
    
      "Janet and I have kept our secret from everyone," I stated matter-of-factly. "No one knows because we promised each other to keep that secret."
    
      "But -- but I know!" Chen interrupted me.
    
      "Well yes," I admitted and kicked myself for starting off with that line. "You know, but this next thing will make it a secret with you, me, and Janet, okay? This means you must keep the secret too, got it?"
    
      She nodded, understanding.
    
      "Don't tell anyone else, or --" Or what, I mused. Then I hit upon the right phrase, "Or we'll all be in big trouble with everyone. Got it?"
    
      Chen understood the phrase, "Big trouble," and nodded quickly.
    
      Waiting for more restrictions, she didn't question me when I lead her to the bathroom.
    
      "What are we doing?" she asked, "Why are we in the bathroom?"
    
      "Yu-Ching," I used her given name to soften the edge of our relationship, "This is one of the first rules of doing it of course."
    
      "Really?" her eyes widened, "We have to go to the bathroom?"
    
      "Well, we have to take a shower. This is so people smell nice when they kiss."
    
      "Kiss? Shower?" Chen blinked, "But I dunno how to use a shower!"
    
      I gave her arm a gentle squeeze and reassured her, "Then I'll show you."
    
      I let Chen take off her clothes as I did mine. At first, she was fidgetly and evasive when I instructed her to do so, but she learned that for each piece of clothing she took off, I matched her. Since I didn't want our clothes to get dirty, I took each article of clothing and folded them neatly in "his & her" piles on the bathroom counter.
    
      I drew up a shallow pool of warm water after we undressed. Chen was shivering as the tub began to fill with water. I took notice and gently pulled her towards me whilst I sat on the tub's side. I gingerly lifted and placed her on my lap, using my body to warm hers.
    
      "Y-y-you s-s-said y-y-you c-c-could t-teach me t-to shower," her teeth chattered and she huddled against my chest.
    
      "I'm going to put you in a bath first," I said, "You're cold."
    
      "Th-that's cause we're n-n-naked!" Chen giggled despite shivering, having found the courage to say the word aloud.
    
      I kissed her gently on the cheek and she looked at me.
    
      "Do we kiss now?" her jaw chattering.
    
      "Yes," I ran my hands over her loins, and marveled how smooth and tight they were.
    
      Chen sneezed and I held her close, sheltering her with warmth.
    
      "We do what feels good." I decided to keep the explanations simple.
    
      "Oh okay," she squirmed a little in my arms.
    
      I loosened my grip so she could re position herself. My cock had acquired a semi-hard state and it was bumping uncomfortably against her small buttocks. I grimaced and bent my rapidly stiffening cock so it was now sandwiched between my stomach and her thigh.
    
      "Is that your pee--" Chen stopped short.
    
      "Yes. It's a boy's penis. It's also called a dick, a boner, a hard-on when it's hard, and a wiener."
    
      "Such bad words!" she gasped and I had to smile at her innocence.
    
      The tub was half full, so I turned off the water. Chen's toes dipped the surface and she didn't complain about the temperature. I stood, holding the lithe girl in my arms and stepped into the tub. I squatted, and we both immersed ourselves.
    
      Chen uttered a surprised squeal as I kissed her bare shoulder. As she sat with her back to me, my hands moved over her tiny body, squeezing, groping, and rubbing her clean. Her small mouth was open, but no more sound came forth save the harmonious breathing of a young girl discovering the joy of love for the first time.
    
      I rubbed a little soap and took the time to clean her body. I took the time especially to erase my name from Chen's hand, apparently the only name she cared enough to make a badge for, just to be on the safe side. She took it as a sign that I treasured her deeply to make her "clean" again.
    
      I slid my fingers gently across the insides of her thighs and buttocks. As my fingers rubbed her sides lightly, I could feel her ribs through her delicate skin. I slowly worked the techniques that Janet had taught me, from the top of Chen's forehead to the toes of her tiny feet.
    
      "Stanley," Chen cooed and leaned into me. "It feels so good."
    
      "Sssh," I murmured quietly into her ears. "There's more."
    
      "More?" Chen played with the buoyancy of her feet and knees, enjoying the brief chill the air gave her exposed skin before submerging it beneath the warm water once more.
    
      I gently massaged her thighs, admiring how my hands could nearly completely enclose her marionette like limbs. I slid my palm over her stomach and chest, before I gently caressed her neck. Chen turned to kiss me, then slowly got up.
    
      "Can I clean you?" she asked her eyes bright with excitement.
    
      "Sure."
    
      I stood and let her small hands take the soap to my body. I closed the shower curtain in the mean time, and readied emptying the bath water in the tub. Chen took her time cleaning me. I didn't mind the extra time she took to explore my body, although the soap began to dry.
    
      She was more fascinated by the hair around my dick than its erect state. However, she was bright enough to know that when she gripped my shaft, I let out soft groans of pleasure. Toying with it, she even began rubbing its head between her delicate fingers to see how far she could take it. I wanted her to do more, but I figure we'd be more comfortable out of water, so I decided it was time to rinse.
    
      "Time for the shower," I said hoarsely. We were lathered partially, but I couldn't wait much longer.
    
      Chen stood by me as I pulled the tub's drain plug and let the water level drop a little bit. She shivered a little and huddled closer. Because I didn't want the water to wash over her head, I picked her up and put her head on the level with mine. Seeking to hang on, she clasped her arms and legs around me as best she could. Both Chen and I gave a playful yelp as the water hit us.
    
      She gave a startled cry as I upturned the shower stream to give her an impromptu bidet wash. Chen struggled to hang on and as I detached the flexible shower head, I set her down. I knelt so I was at her height, and instructed her to control the shower and the water spray. After a few tries, Chen handled it like a pro.
    
      Fully washed and rinsed, we stepped out of the shower. I took a large beach towel and swaddled her like a babe. I carried her to my bedroom and dried her gently before placing her on the bed. She rolled around playfully on the bed and watched me dry myself.
    
      "Was that doing it?" she finally asked me.
    
      I draped the towel over the back of a chair and shook my head.
    
      "Really?" Chen looked puzzled, "But we kissed and we showered!"
    
      "That's part of it," I said, "Now lie down, and I'll show you more."
    
      Chen did as she was told. I lay beside her and parted her legs slightly, admiring her tiny slit she had for a vagina. Since she was so young, her body wasn't as mature as Janet's.
    
      Not yet anyway. How to tell a precocious little girl what she couldn't do when you've nearly gone all way?
    
      I decided to try my luck and pressed one of my knuckles gently against Chen. Her skin buckled under the pressure, but her cunt did not part easily as I expected. I slid the length of my finger along the length of her slit. I glanced at her as I did so to see her expression. As I continued to rub her, I gently pushed down at the spot where I thought Janet had shown me where her clitoris was.
    
      "Stanley?" Chen piped up, "I don't feel anything."
    
      "Darn," I checked my cursing, "I think you are too young. You're going to have to wait until you're older."
    
      "Older?!" she glared at me, "But I wanted to see it now!"
    
      "Hey, hey," I patted her bare stomach. "I'll be here all the time. We can try it again any time it's safe."
    
      Chen wasn't too delighted, but she could sense my disappointment so she knew I wasn't lying to her. Her anger subsided as I began stroking other places on her body.
    
      "So how do you and Janet do it?" she asked.
    
      "It depends," I replied absently. "I usually do it in her pussy."
    
      "Pussy!" Chen giggled and relished in saying another bad word. "Is that my pee-pee?"
    
      "Kinda. It's right below your pee-pee," I explained. "It's where girls let babies out."
    
      "Oh," the girl's hands slid down to her vagina, her fingers exploring herself.
    
      "And if we do it, will I have a baby?" she asked.
    
      "That depends on a lot of things when we do it," I said. I didn't want to explain about contraceptives. She might forget and talk about it in front of her parents, getting us both busted.
    
      "Oh," Chen again fell into dejected silence.
    
      "If you really, really are serious Yu-Ching," I patted her hand. "I can do it with your mouth."
    
      "My mouth?" she sat up. "You mean me eating your pee-pee?"
    
      "No not exactly," I rolled over and lay down beside her. "It's more like sucking on a lollipop, but you don't eat it."
    
      Chen pawed me eagerly, "I can do that!"
    
      I guided her head down towards my crotch. She hesitated just short of my penis, a little unsure of what to do. My foreskin had been rolled back thanks to my dick being in a constant state of semi-hardness since she had washed it in the bathroom, so it was cleaned and ready for action.
    
      "Just lick it," I prompted her. "Take it in your mouth."
    
      Chen blinked a few times then she decided to try it bit by bit. I felt her small red tongue on my shaft and shuddered. Taking notice, she did it again and I reciprocated. Totally interested, she bent over my erection and began playing with the head of my dick with her tongue.
    
      As I watched her fellate me, I wondered if I had locked my door. Someone walking in to such a sight would definitely mean we'd definitely would be in big trouble. Despite not wanting Chen to stop, I gently pulled her off me.
    
      "Wait just a minute okay?" I got up.
    
      I sensed her frustration and confusion as I headed out and double locked my outer door (the one between the garage and the rest of my room) before I came back. Since Chen was sitting near the edge of the bed, I stood next to her and pulled her close.
    
      "Okay baby," I cajoled her. "Let's keep going."
    
      "I'm not a baby!" she glared at me. "I'm almost --!!"
    
      "I don't mean that," I interrupted her with a gentle smile. "It's what a boy calls a girl when they're doing it."
    
      "Oh," her cheeks reddened.
    
      "C'mon," I maneuvered Chen so she was sitting on the edge of the bed.
    
      There, she was at the perfect height for me to stick my dick into her waiting mouth. She pressed her palm against my chest and stomach for support while I fucked her tiny head. Her tongue flicked across the tip of my prick, daring me to shoot my load right into her beautiful Sunday's child's face.
    
      I so wanted to call her by all the filthy names Janet had taught me (and some more I learned on my own), but decided not to. That would just confuse Chen.
    
      No, I grimaced as I watched Chen test how much of me she could shove into her mouth. I had to take things slow with her. Chen's fine black hair flew everywhere as her head bobbed back and forth on my erection. Her mouth was so small, even sucking on a teenager's small cock nearly choked her. I could hear wheezing coming from her button nose as she struggled to breathe. Each time I pumped her face, I felt her spit dribbling down the underside of my cock and scrotum.
    
      "BLEYARCH!" Chen coughed as she spat out my dripping cock, panting for breath.
    
      "Are you okay, baby?"
    
      Her eyes were teary and she was coughing, but she was clearly experiencing the dirty deed first hand. She took several deep breaths and nodded. She wanted to suck more, but since we both had gone this far, I wasn't going to leave her out of the fun.
    
      "Wait a minute," I said as I jogged to the bathroom.
    
      I quickly rinsed my penis, dried it, and then grabbed some talcum power. Rejoining Chen in the bedroom, I sprinkled a dash or two of baby powder and rubbed it all over my dick.
    
      "What's that?" Chen asked, "What are you doing?"
    
      "I'm going to try and do it with you," I said.
    
      I poured out another small mound of powder, and bade her to come hither.
    
      "Now, we can't do it all the way just yet until you're older," I said as I put powder over her groin and hairless snatch, "But we're going to try. You'll see."
    
      Having powdered the right spots, I lay down and bade Chen to lie on top of me. She did so, her light forty-some pound frame putting a nice pleasurable weight on me.
    
      "Now keep your legs closed, but not too tight okay?"
    
      Chen did as she was told. I let out a soft groan as I felt my dick slide between her silky legs. Their smoothness was enhanced by the talcum powder on both of our bodies. I felt Chen's ass cheeks twitch as she deftly squeezed my stick between her tiny thighs. I was hot-dogging her.
    
      Each time she squeezed, I felt a sting of pleasure shoot through my whole body. I began to thrust slowly against her, timing each one so when her legs closed over my cock, my hips would sink down -- this created some great friction, almost like when I was fucking Janet.
    
      It didn't take long before I shot a stream of cum all over Chen's nubile body. She was so surprised she didn't even notice until she was covered in a thin film of glistening, white sticky ooze.
    
      Chen wrinkled her nose as she examined the stuff, and only said, "It's icky."
    
      She decided then and there that the next time we would do it, it would have to be, "a place where you and Janet did it." So, I washed her up one last time, and took her to her home without incident.
    
      I began to see Chen soon after. By the time I graduated high school, she had Americanized her name to Melanie Yu-Ching Chen.
    
      At first, it was chiefly me using this naive girl to sate my frustration when Janet wasn't around. As Melanie grew though, I found we shared several things: a common Guangdong culture, off-beat humor, children, and cooking.
    
      Perhaps the most important thing we shared was a deeper psychic connection. I never questioned Melanie's unrelenting devotion to -- or love for -- me and the others. If I was the catalyst, then Melanie was the empathic glue which held everyone together.
    
    ===============================================================================
      INTERLUDE -- OTHER CONQUESTS
    ===============================================================================
    
      One would figure that a sixteen year old boy would be well-satisfied with two girls at his beck and call. Well almost.
    
      Janet was a thousand miles away, busy pursuing her college studies and career goal. Since she was the youngest child in her family, it meant she had high expectations to live up to. Janet had an older brother and an older half-sister (from a previous marriage). One was an engineer of some kind, the other in medicine. Her family considered her choice of a career in business law a third-rate career, at best. This made her fanatically dedicated to not failing her education.
    
      Janet being away from me seemed to wean her from dependency on me. However, that urgency immediately flared when she'd returned periodically to visit her family, for she'd see me as well. When that occurred, my subconscious would rile hers to a level of debauchery she'd never dare attempt when left alone.
    
      Melanie was a different story. Although she was easily accessible all the time, she was far too young to be sexually active, although she gave it her best. Her regard for me as the "cool, older dude" never really dissipated even after she had reached college. It's likely the image I had given to her at a young age remained unchanged.
    
      Still, with a seven year age gap between Melanie and me, there were difficulties with the law. By the time she was sexually mature and very much active with me, I had to be very wary to ensure that I would not be held accountable. While Melanie was copacetic with the situation, I was willing to bet her parents were not.
    
      Melanie and I behaved in the strictest fashion when others were around, and it was only after she entered high school did she enjoy some measure of freedom. With her brother Yu Wah (later, he picked the very apt Anthony for his name) just attending middle school around that time, both their parents finally hit the work force, content that the children were old enough to reasonably take care of themselves and to get to and from school. This gave Melanie the chance she needed to spend time with me.
    
      Still, the woman I knew as Melanie Chen was still off in the unknown future when I was still attending high school. And with Janet's visitations growing rarer (she started her graduate work early -- sometimes I think that I provoked too much drive and purpose in her, she being my first), I was eager to dive into more misadventure.
    
      Hence, it was with some measure of luck and serendipity that I am able to relate this next story to you.
    
    ===============================================================================
      RACHELLE MAKES A DATE
    ===============================================================================
    
      Every high school has a cheerleading squad and their skimpy uniforms. My high school was no exception. The girls (there were no guys on those glee squads back then, unless they were gay guys who just liked screaming in school sweaters) wore logo-bearing sweaters and short skirts that ended just short of their crotch. It was to die for when the girls had to dress for practice on certain days.
    
      Naturally, there were some of us who earnestly took too much interest in the cheerleaders. I at least, was able to keep the appearance of being cool around them.
    
      Mr. Rubenstein was known as a hard ass. That was strange since his wife (Mrs. Rubenstein) ran the easiest class I took at the high school. Rubenstein -- also called the Mad Jew -- ran a college preparatory course where he'd grade our papers at the college level. A little realistic in terms of education, but it was also unfair since he never told us what was expected from college students.
    
      Luckily, I could discern his thoughts and more or less figure out what he wanted about 80% of the time (telepathy is one thing, but putting someone's expectations to paper is another matter, especially if you had to write eight pages of crap). With Melanie still fresh under my belt and Janet's annual June visit fast approaching I was not expecting any action.
    
      In Rubenstein's class, I was assigned a place in the seating arrangement next to a foxy mulatto by the name of Rachelle.
    
      I must confess that I do not appreciate blacks, even individuals who remotely exhibited African features. And it was personal. I was spat on by one, beaten up and picked on by others, and cowed by the rest when I was attending Melanie's school years ago. That was one of many reasons my parents transferred me to a different elementary school. Andrew didn't have to transfer, because by the time he attended, a tough dyke of a principal had literally brought her foot down on any unruly behavior during her stint at that school.
    
      Still, there was always a mix in the student body due to Affirmative Action and race politics in the city. A certain percentage of students were from other neighborhoods to prevent the unseen means of discrimination and segregation that occurred naturally over time. Hence, some truly bad individuals were sitting with the best students. While some broke their old habits, a six hour a day exposure to learning sometimes can't compete with the ghetto and project mentality these bad apples had to face living at home. Thus, I was supremely wary of sitting next an uncouth ghetto slattern with no redeeming values.
    
      However, Rachelle proved to be a great (and generous) surprise during my six week attendance in Rubenstein's pass or fail class. She was urbane, soft-spoken, and almost genteel. I found later that both her parents were mulatto (nothing telepathic there, just some digging in her genealogical history and blood tests). Both were educated, although only at the most basic levels of higher education.
    
      Her father traded his degree for vocational schooling as a precision millwright, and he wasn't much at home, although he made it a point to save some money and used the rest to move the family to a neighborhood that wasn't the old Barbary Coast. Rachelle's mother worked as a school secretary at Mission High School. The place had a seedier reputation (more than average) and I bet it was because of that, her mother found a way for her daughters (Rachelle was the oldest among four surviving children; an older brother was shot and killed when she was younger) to attend a better and safer school district.
    
      Despite her surroundings, Rachelle was quiet, polite, and thoughtful (although she was air-headed at times). She carried herself with a detached air of regality, unlike my other two girls. The other big difference with Rachelle was she was a very hot, very available -- and unlike Melanie -- she was my age, so her naughty bits all worked.
    
      I read Adams' "Watership Down" (that damn book about rabbits) for a second time (the first time I read it was in middle school) and lying about it to Rubenstein's face so I could pass his class easily. I thought most of the other students would have been smart in manipulating the system, but I guess only a handful were willing to do that. Rachelle wasn't one of them.
    
      Rubenstein's classroom was a bungalow that was constructed as a temporary class back when the school was being remodeled (that was when Dwight Eisenhower was still President) and without money, the school kept the bungalows intact and used them as classrooms. Desks were crammed into this tiny bungalow, and because it was February, the chill in the morning didn't help anyone think clearly.
    
      Rachelle and I sat on a sofa (of all things weird and wonderful in the school system) and had to make do with a notebook or text book when we had to write or jot down notes. The two of us pretty much had to converse because no one else would turn around and take notice. Rubenstein would talk for about 30 minutes or so about how we were all abject failures then have us read our selected book quietly for the rest of the class.
    
      "I hate this book," she whispered to me as we passed the last minutes of class.
    
      "Don't worry," I murmured, "Just look down and pretend to read. It'll be over soon."
    
      "Easy for you," her tone reeked of sarcasm. "You look smart."
    
      I had to smile. It was a very chilly morning. Nine o'clock in the morning and the weather was about 50 degrees Fahrenheit. Rachelle was dressed to go to cheerleader practice, and I could see goose bumps on her nice tan legs despite the dim light. The bungalow used 40 watt incandescent bulbs for illumination, which didn't help light the place up. Despite the chill, I often gave her my overcoat (having a house so close to school meant I could dispense with a greater amount of heavy clothing) to drape over her legs on days when she had cheer squad practice.
    
      At first, Rachelle was unsure about having such a ratty old coat on (hey, I'm just a poor Chinese boy ...) but after a while, she accepted it gladly. This gave me an uncontrollable hard-on after a little while, for her heavy musk clung to my coat when she returned it at the end of class. Rachelle's mix of perfume and sweat seeped so deeply into my usual coat, even Melanie started asking questions: like if I had found another girl to 'do it' with.
    
      At last the bell rang, and Rachelle handed back my coat. The rest of the class was hurriedly departing during Rubenstein's last minute shouting. We mostly ignored it.
    
      "Thank you Stanley," Rachelle said sweetly.
    
      "No problem," I felt her warmth where her bare skin touched my jacket.
    
      "No." A sly smile crept across her face before she said, "You're such a gentleman, offering your coat all the time."
    
      "No problem," I got up to leave.
    
      "Hey, wait up," she followed me outside.
    
      Rachelle was a tall girl, standing as tall as I do even though I had an inch or so from my hiking/army boots. Because of her height, the length of her legs became exaggerated when she donned the cheerleader uniform. The yard of smooth chocolate between the hem of her skirt and the tops of her sport socks was a sight to behold while she made powerful strides to keep up with me.
    
      "What's your hurry, Stanley?" she struggled to keep up.
    
      Aside from keeping Melanie on a tight leash at the time, I had just begun my unofficial job at the school paper as a copy editor. That, plus a wide variety of interests kept me busy, especially when it came to learning about my gifts.
    
      "Just needed to get to my locker," I stopped for Rachelle. "What's up?"
    
      She flashed me a toothy grin, "Well, I was hoping you could help me finish this book."
    
      "You mean H.G. Wells' _War of the Worlds_?"
    
      "Yeah sure. Whatever."
    
      I picked up that she wasn't terribly interested and that I was probably nothing more to her than a walking Asian encyclopedia. That suited me fine; that is, if I got what I wanted.
    
      "Well, I might be free later," I said. Her eyes lit up as I continued, "Do you want to talk about your report later?"
    
      "Argh -- can't," she gave me a shrug. "Team practice after school. How about Friday?"
    
      Friday was fine, as long as Melanie wasn't around. I mentally made a note.
    
      "Sure, that's fine. Pick a time?"
    
      Rachelle nodded, "How about after sixth period?"
    
      "Sure. Where?" I asked.
    
      "Backfield bleachers," she waved. "Two thirty?"
    
      It was near the damned geeks at the computer club, but I didn't mind.
    
      "Sure thing." With that, she and I parted for the day.
    
    ===============================================================================
      SHE LIKES IT, SHE LIKES IT NOT
    ===============================================================================
    
      Sure enough, I wasn't keenly aware of what was expected late that day, the last day of the school week. Despite the cold snap, the weather warmed the air to a moderately acceptable 60 degrees Fahrenheit. Washington High School was separated into the football field and the surrounding bleachers in the "front" field, and a "back field" in the back of the school which handled soccer, and track and field. The back field was surrounded by the school itself and some residential buildings. The bleachers were in dire need of repair. Simply sitting on them often incurred splinters -- the wood having long since rotted.
    
      So there I was at the bleachers, standing there like a moron waiting for one of the hottest girls in the class. Rachelle showed up a little past a quarter to three. She didn't have practice that day, but she wore baggy sweats and lugged her gym bag in addition to her books.
    
      "Hey there," she waved.
    
      "Hi Rachelle." I was keenly aware that a few of the computer club geeks were likely in the nearby window, secretly watching this unfold.
    
      "So are we ready?" she placed a thick text (math) on the shattered bleachers to protect her bum.
    
      "Actually, I live like three blocks away," I blurted. "I figured it'd be better to have desks and stuff."
    
      "Or we could go to the library," Rachelle said coolly. "But if you're so close, I don't mind. Lead the way."
    
      So I did. We walked along the sunny sidewalk, immersed in small talk. She spoke about her day, how one of the newer cheerleaders was really being brassy and pushy (it was Ashley) and how it put off her timing. She also revealed to me where she lived: Second Avenue and Clement, better than the ghetto where her brother was shot. Her family left the ghetto, and her parents worked hard to keep them out of there.
    
      "I can't fail them," Rachelle confessed, her voice taut with stress, "But Mr. Rubenstein is such a douche. He's going to fail me."
    
      "Yeah, well," I blabbed senselessly. "He's probably just a kooky old dude."
    
      "No, Stanley," she said seriously. "I mean he's honestly a douche. I have a feeling he's always staring at me when I dress for practice."
    
      "Oh?" I glanced at her face and saw that she was dead serious. I snorted derisively. "What a pervert."
    
      "Yeah, I know," Rachelle beamed brightly at me. "That's why I'm so glad you give me your coat every time I show up dressed like that."
    
      "Oh," I felt my cheeks flush.
    
      "Stanley! You're blushing!" she teased.
    
      So I was. Rachelle laughed as I fumbled for my keys. I felt Rachelle grip my shoulder for guidance as I led her through the dimly lit passage around the garage to the room. The place hadn't changed much since I invited Melanie in December. The sudden brightness in my study made her eyes squint.
    
      "Wow," she said quietly. "This is all yours?"
    
      "Actually, my parents'," I confessed. "It's to get me used to living on my own. Once I'm ready for college, I hand this over to my little brother."
    
      "Oh that's so sweet of you," she dabbed her eyes with a napkin. My study always faced the sun, and Rachelle's eyes were watering from the extreme brightness.
    
      "So," I gestured to the desk where Janet had tutored me nearly five years ago. "Shall we start?"
    
      And so we did. Rooting around Rubenstein's mind had given me some idea about what he was expecting (from me at least). Rachelle was sure Rubenstein would fail her, but she wasn't going to stoop to exposing herself to get the grade. Hence, I did my best to explain Wells' _War of the Worlds_ to her. From the general description, I asked her what she thought.
    
      In spite of Rachelle's steadfast refusal to learn, she did have an opinion, and she did bring up that it would've been horrible to live like an animal under Martian rule.
    
      "Or a slave," she shuddered.
    
      From there, I ventured several points she could take up. We ultimately settled on Wells' argument on the human condition, and how people could deteriorate as the mad cavalryman explained to the narrator. Humans would live like they would in "Terminator", fighting the Martians and completely dedicated to uniting against a common enemy.
    
      Rachelle could argue how, in the face of a common antagonist, different groups of people could unite and work together. She could conclude that Wells' story pretty much foreshadowed stories seen in both Terminator movies, although we left the second one out of Rachelle's report because its story was not what we were looking for.
    
      Hollywood bastards, I thought. The studios simply recycled old stories to make their money.
    
      "Wow," Rachelle leaned back in her chair. "You are smart, Stanley."
    
      "Not really," I demurred.
    
      "Yes, really," she gripped my hand. "You're just modest."
    
      I felt my body heat rise and sweat popped from my pores. Rachelle's sudden physical contact with me seemed to relax her, and put her at ease. It was as if our minds were fusing. Much like I had with Janet.
    
      Aw, dammit.
    
      "You have a girlfriend, huh?" she finally broke her silence.
    
      "Do I?" I smiled nervously.
    
      "You have that look," she studied me, "Like you've been -- I don't know. Ah, that's okay."
    
      "What's okay? What look?" I was curious.
    
      Rachelle put her arms on my desk and rested her head on top, "I don't know Stanley. When I look at you, I see a real cool guy. But --"
    
      "But?" I was dying to know how she'd finish her sentence.
    
      "But it's like you treat girls so --" she struggled to find the words. "So nice."
    
      "Nice?"
    
      "Mmmn-hmm," her eyes glistened as she spoke, "See? Right now you're looking right into my eyes and not checking the rest of me out."
    
      "I am?" I caught myself, "I mean, I'm not? Should I be?"
    
      Rachelle stood up laughing. "That's not so bad -- I mean you like girls right?"
    
      Oh baby, you don't know the half of it, my mind buzzed.
    
      "Oh yeah," my eyes followed her as she crossed the study to the bed.
    
      "Well," she patted my bed, "Come and sit by me."
    
      "Sure." I did as she asked. Rachelle pushed me down gently on the bed so she could straddle me.
    
      "Oh wow," I tried to hold her but she took my hands and guided them under her sweatshirt, "You sure about this Rachelle?"
    
      "Yeah," she sighed. "Touch me Stanley."
    
      Rachelle left my hands on her smooth mocha skin while she unzipped her hoodie. Underneath, I could see she only wore a tank top that accentuated her shoulders and made her look like a model. She hopped off me briefly to kick off her sneakers and to slide off her sweat pants. She quickly slid off her panties and I saw my first hairy snatch since Janet took off so many months ago.
    
      "Like what you see?" my chocolate sex bunny slid back on top of me, her curly bush now grinding against my growing bulge.
    
      "Oh yeah."
    
      My hands went over her thighs, calves, and hips. I squeezed her waist and she laughed. I watched as she pulled off her tank top, so she wore nothing but a thin gold chain around her neck and small earrings. Her nipples were really dark. Since her breasts were fairly small but firm, her nips reminded me of the chocolate kisses made by the Hershey candy company.
    
      I sat up and tasted a small bit of one. Rachelle sighed and bent down so I could nibble her easily. I felt my cock rising to the occasion and to her constant grinding.
    
      "Stick it in me," the dark beauty murmured, "But give it to me in the ass."
    
      "What?" I paused.
    
      "In my ass silly boy," she rolled off me and began undoing my pants, "Because we don't have a condom."
    
      I wanted to try Janet's method of saran wrap, but decided to acquiese to Rachelle's strange demand. I had done it to Janet once in her ass -- after waiting half a day for her to clean her colon out with a home colonic. Finally she unscrewed the showerhead and stuck the flexible tube up her ass to flush out the rest of her shit. It was our first time doing anal and Janet was still experimenting. We found that condoms were the best way to deal with the shit later. We didn't bother with anal sex much after that day.
    
      "Here," Rachelle grabbed a small tube of something from her purse. "I got this from the peer resource center at school."
    
      "What is it?" I asked.
    
      "It's anal lube," she squirted a large glob of a clear cool gel on my dick. "Just get it all over, and get yourself hard, sugar."
    
      I gave her a grin when she called me that and followed through without saying another word. Rachelle meanwhile had coated her ebony fingers with more of the stuff and smeared it all into her ass crack.
    
      "Oooh," she closed her eyes and gasped as she slid a finger into her little brown shit hole.
    
      Predicting how messy things could get, I quickly grabbed a few small hand towels and piled them within easy reach. Rachelle got on all fours and backed her ass so I could easily fuck her from the edge of the bed.
    
      "C'mon Stan," she wagged her ass in my face. "Give it to me -- hard!"
    
      I slapped my hard dick against the top of her ass, then began to rub the slick head from the back of her asshole down to her clamped-up pussy.
    
      "Wait -- what're you doing?" Rachelle looked back and gave me a stern glance. "Don't you dare stick it in there!"
    
      By now, I was really ready to go. I wanted to experience the same bareback, flesh on flesh experience I had with Janet years ago, even if it was in a different type of hole. With Rachelle's poop chute bared before me, I pushed the head of my dick against her. As her puckered pit opened up to let me in, I heard her let out a soft cry.
    
      "Are you okay?" I asked.
    
      Rachelle was no longer looking back. Her head was down on the bed, and her body tense and frozen. After a brief lull of silence, she turned her head to the side and gave me the okay to go ahead. I pushed deeper into her and I could see her face grimace, her eyes shut, and her hands clutching tightly at my bedsheets.
    
      Her tiny little hole slowly let me in -- a thick stiff cock going up her asshole was wholly unnatural to the process of shitting, and Rachelle's body instinctively understood it as such. Her breathing had increased in tempo and she was panting much like a bitch in heat as her bunghole stretched itself around my cock. A sweet nutty scent came off her ass and her back began to glisten with sweat from her exertion. I slowly began to pump her butthole.
    
      Her toes curled and flexed as my cock snaked in and out of her tight ass. I didn't withdraw completely, but just enough length to give Rachelle the feeling of shitting out my dick. I would reverse back into her body, renewing the feeling of shit passing through her rectum.
    
      After a while, it got to a rhythm whereby Rachelle would squeeze my cock as I pulled out, then relaxed as I went back in. Not satisfied with this arrangement, I hilted myself, and gently flipped her over.
    
      "Stanley," she groaned, "What're you doing?"
    
      I pushed her knees back until they were parallel to her head. With my dick still fully rammed into her tight mulatto ass, I began to stroke her gently and deeply.
    
      "I wanted to see you beautiful," I stared hungrily, "I wanted you ever since I saw you Rachelle."
    
      "Oh!" She smiled broadly. "And here I thought you were such a proper gentleman!"
    
      "And I thought you were a --" I finished my sentence with a thought.
    
      It was a conglomeration of thought-imagery of Janet through the years, followed by visions of Rachelle sitting docilely by me in class. I recalled those times I felt the warmth of the coat Rachelle had borrowed, and how I'd fantasize about stopping time, taking her into the back room of Rubenstein's bungalow and fucking the shit out of her. All this and a little more I wanted to tell Rachelle but couldn't, so I transmitted the whole kaboodle right into her mind without thinking what might happen. The end result was quite unexpected.
    
      "Oh -- ah -- AH! AAAH!!!" Rachelle swooned as the carnal lust I felt slammed her into unconsciousness.
    
      Her eyes rolled back as I shot my baby butter deep into her sweet black ass. Rachelle's mouth hung open, spit dribbling down the side of her mouth. Her asshole involuntarily tried to squeeze out my dick, but all she managed to do was milk clean my cock of its dick snot. My normally resigned demeanor vanished as I began enjoying pummeling the helpless girl with abandon.
    
      Having satisfied myself, I pulled my dick from Rachelle's ass. Her shit covered quite a bit of everything, but that's what those hand towels were for. I wiped myself clean, then realized that I had a nude, unconscious girl in my bedroom. Should my parents seek me and walk in, I'd have some explaining to do.
    
      Rachelle was helplessly out cold -- whether it was from my mind rape or the ass pounding, I wasn't sure. I checked her pulse and was relieved she was still alive. I grabbed some baby wipes (Janet and I found they were great for sanitation and for cleaning skin oil to reduce zits) and cleaned Rachelle and myself as best I could. I got myself dressed then locked my doors so I'd be able to dissuade any sudden intrusion from Andrew or my parents.
    
      At a loss of what to do, I lay her on my bed as if she was a classmate taken ill. That would be the easiest explanation, I thought to myself. However, she was nude under the covers. I sat and held her hand, thus allowing me to sense her thoughts. I figured our physical activity didn't do any lasting physical damage: her asshole was puckered and easily gaped when I cleaned it, but her mind seemed abuzz with static, as if she was a TV with bad analog reception.
    
      Even if a 'normal' was asleep (or lay in a coma), brain activity would still be present that I could pick up. Heck, I even learned how to play with the dreams of people who were sleeping if just to tantalize them, or as a form of sleep deprivation torture.
    
      Rachelle hardly rated anything at the moment, just a dim blob of jumbled imagery and feelings. For the first time in my life, I was scared. Yet, I didn't want to put Rachelle's clothing back on her just yet. While I had seen both Janet and Melanie nude (Janet many times, Melanie just once at the time), I had never seen a fully nude girl of my age at the time. I studied her body despite what had just happened, my mind simultaneously wondering about what to do next and in total awe at this wondrous ebony beauty in bed.
    
      My bed! Since she was such a "dead fish", I thought that I would finally get caught. I'd have to get rid of a body somewhere or call someone and they'd probably wonder what happened. Or wait for Rachelle to wake up (if she did) and she'd tell them I did horrible, wanton things to her nubile virgin body. I wouldn't be able to defend myself either, since I had touched her all over with my bare hands. With nothing left to lose, I decided to try and fuck Rachelle in her cunt before I got some help.
    
      Damned if I do, damned if I don't, right?
    
      I went to the kitchenette, grabbed the bottle of cooking oil and headed back to her body. Flinging the covers back, I dabbed a little bit of oil on my fingers and slid them between her dark cunt lips. I felt a scratchy tab when I did -- her tampon, I realized. Janet had shown me once when we were younger. After she went to college, she learned to dispense with it in private by "freshening up" before I'd pork her brains out.
    
      I gripped the tampon tab and pulled it out of Rachelle. Her body was still warm, and I could feel her steady breathing. She seemed totally out-cold. As I tossed the tampon in the trash, I wondered if I could arrange an "accident" whereby she fell and bumped herself into unconsciousness. It was a ridiculous idea, I know. But at the moment, a lot of blood had left my brain and entered a completely different brain.
    
      I rubbed Rachelle's slit again, and I dared a sniff at her tangled bush. Her strong dank musk wafted deep into my nostrils and gave me one of the biggest erections I had known. I worked a finger, then two into her love tube. I felt her cunt ripple and contract around my digits as I slid them in. Her body either absorbed the oil or it evaporated into her murky depths, but I didn't need any lubrication after a while of finger fucking her. Rachelle's cunt was oozing its own lubrication. It was a sweet, intoxicating fluid that few men could resist.
    
      My fingers now coated with Rachelle's quality quim juice, I whipped my erection out from my pants and slid into her. Despite having just fucked her up the ass, I was raving to get back into her. I grunted as my prick muscled into her womb. It felt good -- much better than her asshole. It might've been because it reminded me so much of Janet, and the degree to which I missed my lovely Lady Wu.
    
      I hardly gave it a thought as I fucked her brain-dead pussy as roughly and as carelessly as I dared. After a few minutes of stroking her, I felt her stir. Since only my dick was making the physical contact with her at the time, it took a little while for me to realize Rachelle was regaining consciousness.
    
      When her eyes flew open, she was surprised, then confused. When she realized what was happening, she began screaming. I muffled her partly by placing my hand over her mouth. Rachelle's hands went up and tried to push me off, but I was running on adrenalin now. Being scared shitless by her being unresponsive had pumped me up full of my body's natural high, and I held her down.
    
      Looking back, it might've been the smooth pumping that brought her back so quickly. Sensual contact stimulates parts of the brain that require one to be awake (you know, for the sex). Rachelle's quim also served as a thought conduit for my unconsciousness. I wanted her to be awake. I wanted her to see me fucking her. I wanted her period.
    
      As the shock and surprise of her fainting faded, I began to recall what I was doing when she collapsed. I modified my technique and sought to douse the alarms in her mind. I felt her fear. Strangely it wasn't about being raped, it was more about being left in a state of embarrassing pregnancy. Visions of her old neighborhood came to me. I saw what she saw:  teenagers prostituting themselves to older men, girls at middle school age who suddenly wore baggy clothing to hide the fact that they were pregnant.
    
      I understood the reason why her family moved out of there, and also understood why she was so afraid as I slammed her body mercilessly. I worked doubly hard to mitigate her fear, and keep it to a minor nuisance. Rachelle had stopped trying to scream now, and had surrendered herself to me. I released my hand from her mouth and tried to kiss her, but she turned her head to avoid locking eyes with me. As I gave her a quick peck on her cheek, I saw her eyes wet with tears. At the same time, I felt her anguish come through. It would've overwhelmed me if I was sensitive like Melanie, but I wasn't.
    
      "Don't worry baby," I whispered. "You won't get in trouble."
    
      Rachelle glared angrily at me with her tear-streaked face, her lips quivering but she didn't utter a word. I was fast approaching a boiling point, but save for the few times before, I always enjoyed having my woman hit the sweet spot with me. I wanted Rachelle to enjoy our time together. Toning down the imagery I had brain-blasted her before, I trickled a feeble feed into her mind.
    
      "S -- Stanley," she barely managed to whisper. "I don't want to get pregnant."
    
      "I know," I grunted and multi-tasked fucking her, telepathically tickling her, and trying not to cum completely in her cunt.
    
      "Ple -- please pull out," Rachelle pleaded uselessly.
    
      The feed apparently was too weak to let her feel the excitement I was experiencing, but I didn't turn up the intensity either, afraid of blasting her mind to pieces. So, I had to content myself with her unwilling body. I forced a few more fuck strokes as I felt the familiar feeling wash over me again. I pulled out and she let out a pent-up hiss of relief. I shot gobs of cum over Rachelle's tanned stomach and tits. She let me collapse on top of her to catch my breath. I felt the hot sticky ooze between our bodies, as well as her feeling of being used and betrayed.
    
      "I didn't mean for it to go this far," I confessed. That was the honest truth. She didn't answer, so I kissed her neck in hopes of eliciting a response.
    
      "I know," she said finally, "It was my fault. I pass out a lot."
    
      "Oh, you do, do you?" I rolled off and glanced at her. She just lay there, her expression was one of total disbelief and her hair a mess.
    
      "And I shouldn't have teased you like that," she covered her face to hide her tears.
    
      "Was it so bad?" I tried comforting her.
    
      Amazingly, Rachelle shook her head, her hands still covering her face. I gingerly took one of her hands in mine and squeezed it.
    
      "I liked it." Her tone was flat.
    
      "Did you?" I stroked her shoulder gently. "Be honest to yourself if not with me."
    
      Rachelle wiped her eyes with her free hand and looked at me.
    
      "I just wanted this time to be special," she sniffed, "But I couldn't get any condoms from the PRC."
    
      "Oh, I see," I was flabbergasted.
    
      The PRC was the peer resource center which passed out unofficial sex advice to students, regardless of orientation.
    
      "So they had anal lube but no condoms," I came off a little more sarcastic than I meant to. "Nice. Tough luck for the gay guys I guess."
    
      "I wanted this -- this time to be that magic moment," Rachelle murmured, "And with the right guy."
    
      "I'm sorry I disappointed," I said quietly.
    
      "No Stanley," her hand tightened around mine, "It wasn't you, but I guess I just botched things up."
    
      You mean you let me mind-rape you, I thought sullenly.
    
      "You're a little wrong about that," I stroked her hand, "The best part is just this."
    
      "You mean this cuddling?" her tone incredulous. "But I thought -- you know, you're a guy."
    
      "I'm not your every-guy," I pulled my blanket over her. The everyman joke didn't register.
    
      Rachelle pressed her dark lithe body against mine. Her mind had calmed, and her breathing was now regular and rhythmic. It was naive of me, but I wanted Rachelle to feel good. Sometimes though, the best intentions mean exactly what they mean when carried out.
    
      "Here," I let my fingers slide down her body. "Let me show you what you missed."
    
      So, I did Rachelle again, although only with my skillful hands. Watching her face go from serene, to shock, and finally to ecstasy as she experienced her first orgasm. I kept up the pressure, and she had a few more mild ones in rapid succession. We both found her to be a squirter, or at least a mild one. Rachelle sprayed so much of her pungent juice, Melanie immediately knew what was going on when she came over the next day.
    
      Chen Yu-Ching was not amused, and again lamented how she couldn't wait to grow up so I would pay her the same amount of sexual attention. But Melanie was later. Rachelle was _now_.
    
      She juiced so much, her legs were slick. What little mascara she wore had run when she came. Her tears made the smears grow more as she eagerly fucked my rapidly tiring hand. Even though I had shot twice that day, I was amazed I was still able to blow a load into her mouth. Rachelle sucked me off as her way of saying goodnight while we showered. I escorted her home even though it was pretty late. I drained my balls so much I barely had the energy to see Melanie the next day.
    
      As I rode back, a collection of Rachelle's thoughts I had "collected" but not "read" came to me. I realized that the sex was her intent all along, she wasn't expecting to orgasm (or get mind-smacked). Her original intention was to give me a nice hand job in the backfield, but being close to me at my room (a place where I felt at ease, hence putting her in the same mind set) prompted her to push things a little further. I felt sorry that things didn't go as planned for her, but in the end, everything worked out for the better.
    
      Rachelle lived in another neighborhood, and since we didn't share many classes together (we only shared Rubenstein's class and drivers' education, and that class had zero chance of us hooking up because the whole class was lecture only), we saw each other only because we wanted to.
    
      As for Rubenstein's class, her paper got a passing grade, as did mine. We were both glad to have finally survived the Mad Jew's class. Rachelle and I left notes in each other's lockers though for the rest of our time in high school.
    
      Rachelle confessed that she had a creep of a boyfriend, but didn't care to let him get too close. She admitted she dated him chiefly because he had a car. She later dumped his ass once she got her own clunker in our senior year. Her experience with me was honestly eye-opening for her, and she was glad it was with me. When I asked her why, she gave me her honest answer.
    
      "Because you're sweet," she said.
    
      Nevertheless, Rachelle had to buckle down and get her GPA up because cheer squad and her other get-ready-for-college activities were sucking up so much of her time. Taking clues from Janet's methods of masturbation (it saves time 'cause I don't need you! Or so the joke went with Janet) I bought Rachelle an electric toothbrush and gave it to her on the last day of our junior year.
    
      "What the heck is this?" she asked when we managed to see one another over summer. "I already have a toothbrush."
    
      "Trust me," I said slyly. "Hold it against you after turning it on. I think it'll be something you don't want anyone else to find out."
    
      I heard little from Rachelle over the summer. She'd telephone me occasionally and we'd go out for a movie or quick bite. I couldn't spend as much time as I liked with her since Janet would visit and Melanie was always around. The first day I started my senior year at high school, I bumped into Rachelle and she pulled me aside to kiss me on the cheek. It also let her whisper her first words to me after a long summer hiatus.
    
      "Oh. My. God," she breathed. "I can't believe you thought of that with a vibrating toothbrush."
    
      We promptly resumed our letters once we found each other's lockers. She revealed she didn't attend summer school like me since she wanted some time to relax (I suspected she simply wanted to masturbate). She was eager to see me again at my place and I cheerfully accepted. I saw Rachelle Hollister many times after that. Each time we would pass in the hall, she'd give me a knowing wink and smile, and her hips would sway just a little more as she walked.
    
    ===============================================================================
      A FRIEND IN FARAZ
    ===============================================================================
    
      The Soviet Union dissolved around my sophomore year and there was a demographic shift in the school around the time. More and more Russian, Ukrainian, Georgian, Ossettian, Lithuanian, and "Baltic State" students (we called them generic Russians) appeared in schools, along with kids from Palestine, Lebanon, Iraq (Desert Storm kicked off my junior year), India, and the Middle East. Their names were distinct when announced in class, and I am sure there were no small numbers of unkind jokes and pranks (what would now be considered a 'hate crime').
    
      I wasn't all that surprised with the influx of new immigrant students, one of them had been the object of ridicule as a new JROTC cadet. That was around the time I became pretty good friends with an Iraqi kid named Faraz. He had escaped Iraq (the lucky fuck) as a political asylum seeker. Along with his family, they were allowed entry into the states as Stormin' Norman Schwarzkopff liberated Kuwait and kicked Saddam's ass.
    
      Faraz's most chilling thing was how, as he stated, you could be sitting in a class like we were in JROTC, and one of Saddam's Republican Guard commanders could come in and simply recruit you into the Iraqi army. BAM. You just enlisted buddy. Tough shit. If you died, your family just lost another son. Damn!!
    
      Despite our different backgrounds, Faraz and I got along rather well. My dalliance with Melanie reminded me how earnestly alone I was, at least in social terms, in and out of school. I had almost no friends of my age, and the closest people I knew were far too old or far too young to have shared experiences. Hence, Faraz pretty much fit the bill. He too, was an outsider.
    
      For the remainder of my junior year, I made it a habit to "Americanize" Faraz by having lunch with him. I saw him again during summer school. He was taking extra courses to acclimize his vernacular to his new country as well as taking the full load of courses available so he could ready himself for college.
    
      When our last year of high school started, we kept our occasional lunch appointments. Faraz and I had little money, so any indulgence in eating out made us feel like we were growing up. When we "made lunch", we would settle for this trashy pizzeria at the corner of the school block called Class Clown Pizza.
    
      The pizza shop was fairly decent, if over-priced, pizza. I generally only had a slice, as I was lactose intolerant (dairy made me physically ill). By now, I was fairly busy juggling three girls, my school work, and the final few college applications, so I would have a sandwich or two tucked in my pocket for quick eating in class.
    
      "So my friend," Faraz's accent didn't mar his constantly improving English, "How is your young --" he thrust his hips.
    
      Shortly before the start of our senior year, I had leaked some information I had about Melanie to Faraz as a boast. He was hardly impressed but did chide me about it often.
    
      "Yeah, quiet man," I gestured for him to keep his voice low. "You know I can get busted after what she and I did?"
    
      "Ho, ho, ho," he shook his finger. "How you say, 'Shame on you'?"
    
      Faraz's parents were pretty middle-class. His mother had taught English in Iraq, but his father spoke it better. Since her English was barely understandable, she found work at a fast food place. His father worked as a mechanic at a service station, and Faraz would work there part-time. All the money they saved went to his and his sister's future education and the family's exorbitant rent for a small flat in the city. One reason Faraz didn't mind lunch with me was because I generally paid using what meager allowance I received from my parents.
    
      "She's nice," I mused about Melanie. "I don't want to mess things up. Besides, she's just a kid. How would I know how she'll feel when she's older?"
    
      "If Iraq not fucked up," Faraz scoffed, "She would be almost wife there."
    
      "Almost wife?"
    
      "Yes," he struggled to find the right English words.
    
      Arab-English dictionaries weren't popular until after 9/11, and I didn't have the patience to learn their curving script, alternate syntaxes, and local idioms, so I waited patiently for Faraz to explain himself. Faraz chose the simplest way to describe it: a girl could be betrothed to a man in her teens (or in some cases, as a baby). She could reject the husband, and in which case, the dowry provided by the girl's family had to be returned.
    
      "Your Chee-Na girlfriend," Faraz swigged some Coca-Cola, "She make you good wife probably."
    
      "Maybe," I wasn't thinking that far down. "Shit, I could say the same about your sister. She's the same age."
    
      "Ah-ahh-aah," my friend wagged his finger. "You get no idea like that or --" he mimed his dick being cut off.
    
      "Then don't think of Chen like that," I said.
    
      "It's different," Faraz laughed. "She is not my sister."
    
      I snorted derisively.
    
      "Hey this Coke same as my Coke in Bahgdad," he swirled the contents. "No sand my man."
    
      "Enjoy it. You're American now," I peered into my cup. I was empty.
    
      "But what you and ah --" Faraz grasped for words, "Rashell?"
    
      "Rachelle," I made a face. "I forgot about that."
    
      "I cannot believe it," Faraz shook his head. "If you are no sheik, you are -- player? Yes? Is that it?"
    
      "Rachelle and I are good friends."
    
      "Good friends eh?" he leaned back and pointed with his chin. "You be careful friend, what you say if she is here!"
    
      I caught a distorted reflection of our school's red and white cheerleader uniform on a salt shaker on the table and turned around. It was fortunate Faraz was smart enough to warn me in his own way, because Rachelle and two more cheerleaders were about to enter the Class Clown. She and I had this tacit agreement about our relationship. 
    
      While there was a rumor mill going on, I was intensely private. I was prone not to trust people until I've read them (Faraz probably being the only acquaintance I didn't read into until later) for fear of discovery. I also had to deal with Melanie on a nearly daily basis, Janet's remote hen-pecking, and my own self-discovery of what I was.
    
      Rachelle was copacetic with that, and we'd only be seen together in the halls, or perhaps once a week out to a theater, a park, a store, or something we found fun to do. On other weekends, I'd split it between Melanie and -- later on -- Shawn at places where they respectively wanted to go. All in all, it was a hectic life for a seventeen year old boy. I waved a hello and she waved back. The other kids either didn't take notice, or were riled jealous. Class Clown, after all, was an Afro-centric hangout.
    
      "Looks like trouble my friend."
    
      I didn't need Faraz's warning. I could sense it coming like a huge wave off shore. Some black guys near the counter -- they weren't any I recognized from school -- began making cat-calls and whistles as Rachelle placed an order. She smiled defensively and ignored them.
    
      One of them brave enough to stand up, ambled up to her and either said or offered something that she didn't like. Rachelle put her hands up to push him away, and he proceeded to lick her fingers. She drew back and slapped him. That's when the hooting and jeers began.
    
      Rachelle's acquaintances were loud, the Asian owners of Class Clown were louder, but the goons egging on Rachelle's molester were the loudest. I couldn't hear myself think, or for that matter, Faraz. As quick as I could, I strode up to her attacker, and tapped his shoulder so he could turn around.
    
      Probably about here, you'd expect some mystical Far Eastern philosophy about "size matters not, do or do not," or some other Jungian bullstuff. I might be Chinese, but I grew up in America. When I want results, I get them.
    
      The term "kid" was a misnomer. This guy was full up a head taller than I was, his body was sinewy, but not fat. If he wanted, he could've kicked my ass without the help of his friends. When he turned around, he expected someone taller, instead he saw me and shouted in my face.
    
      "Wha'd'choo want small man?!"
    
      I restrained my urge to gag at his extraordinary stink. It was a mix of his bad breath and his unwashed body. He needed a shower and maybe some after shave. I held my breath, grinned, and motioned for him to come closer so I could say something to him in private. When he leaned in closer, I gently pointed my fingers at his forehead and let him have it.
    
      Taking what I learned from my experience with Rachelle, I quickly crafted a montage of every racial stereotype of how decent people viewed him, along visions of what I picked up from Rachelle's ghetto, state prison, "Oz", "American Me", and a few more unhealthy thoughts and threw them without a thought into his brain. The result was that I overloaded his synapses.
    
      The last thing I threw in was personal. The very thought that I'd probably have a job in the future that would decide if I needed to keep his tickled my sense of superiority of this cancer on society. I caught the tail end of his response as he fainted.
    
      The mounting horror, despair, and hopelessness of his situation overwhelmed him and I felt his mind reel then collapse. I knew he realized the futility of the ghetto. I simply made him aware that I was aware. And I laughed at him.
    
      The big kid fell to the ground with a crash. Rachelle took several steps back, her eyes wide with shock. I knew to the others, it looked like I had just punched the asshole with one quick blow. One of his friends, a fat little fucker in a puffy jacket and an ass-backwards baseball cap, got up and advanced towards me.
    
      I knew what his intentions were: to scare me by acting loud and brash, but it's hard to hide one's thoughts from our kind. I could sense he was going to use his bulk to push me. I struck first and slapped him across the face.
    
      Unlike Rachelle, I added my previous message through physical contact, so this girlish whack brought about an instant takedown. I also threw in that his sorry ass wouldn't live past 25 due to his weight problem and his love of junk food. Like his friend, the stupid fat fuck didn't get up immediately either.
    
      Both the fallen now exhibited retarded physical motion. They wanted to recover, but their limbs simply didn't function as they wanted and both were frothing at their mouths.
    
      I found out with later experimentation, it was akin to a being hit by an epileptic seizure or a taser. If I did that same thing now, it would be thirty times more potent and possibly cause an aneurism or a stroke. This ability served me well when I found my true calling.
    
      The bystanders hung back, some silent and some calling me names. All regarded me with wariness and suspicion at a distance. To explain what I did would be unbelievable and dangerous, so I simply adopted a classic, stereotypical stance from a kung-fu movie.
    
      "Get these two some aspirin," I stared down the victims' ragtag followers. "And watch your mouth. There are ladies present."
    
      No one said anything, but Faraz finally let out a loud whoop, grabbed his drink, and hustled me out the door before the police arrived. I couldn't even stop to check on poor Rachelle.
    
      "Muhammed strike me if I lie!" Faraz laughed. "You kick his ass! Pow! Just like in the action movies!"
    
      "Yeah, don't get me started," I was unsure how much damage I did, or if it was permanent. And I did it in front of so many people too.
    
      "Can you show me?" Faraz looked at me keenly, "Or is it ancient Chinese secret?"
    
      I laughed, because that was the line I wanted to deliver at the Class Clown. It was also a line from a videogame I was playing on and off when not having sex with Janet, fending off Melanie's advances, spending time with Rachelle, or studying.
    
      "Ancient Chinese secret," I quipped.
    
      "Whappow!" Faraz pounded me on my back, "You save your woman! You get the sex from her yes?"
    
      "Thanks for the reminder Faraz," I managed a weak laugh. "But I better check on Rachelle later."
    
       I wondered about what I accidentally did to Rachelle had any lasting effects. I never asked if she remembered anything from it, probably because we both didn't mind. But this was different. It was simply an attack -- a psychic attack.
    
      "Good idea friend," he nodded in agreement. "Hey, I see you later too yes? Class is starting now."
    
    ===============================================================================
      MELANIE GROWS UP
    ===============================================================================
    
      After the fight at the Class Clown, I was surprised there was no fallout. I wanted to see Rachelle, but because of the incident, I guess she was either excused from classes the rest of the day or was let out early. I didn't see her at her last class.
    
      Frustrated, I headed over to the elementary school to meet Melanie. As it turned out, Rachelle was waiting at my place. I didn't know how long she sat at my door, but it would've been at least a quite a while.
    
      I had Melanie in tow, so there wasn't any chance of keeping them apart. Instantly I felt Melanie's jealousy radiate from her deeply dark eyes. Melanie's icy stare would've cowed anyone, but Rachelle didn't notice. My little darling hadn't met Janet at the time. So this was the first time Melanie saw another girl -- a beautiful girl at that -- stealing me away from what she regarded as HER TIME with me, and Melanie didn't know how to contain herself.
    
      Thankfully, she was too young to have done anything foolish, so I kindly asked Melanie to wait in my study while I talked with Rachelle in the inner room.
    
      "You didn't stay." Rachelle sounded hurt.
    
      "I'm sorry," I bade her to sit. "Faraz thought it was a good idea to head out."
    
      "The campus po-po asked about you," she said quietly.
    
      "Nevermind them," I filled two glasses of cold distilled water, "Are you all right?"
    
      Rachelle took a sip, then set the glass down and she leaned over to hug me.
    
      "I didn't want to go home immediately," she sniffed and leaned against me. "My mama is going to flip over this. School just started!"
    
      "It wasn't your fault though," I took her hand.
    
      "Yeah, I guess you're right."
    
      We got down to talking about it. I felt all grown-up, caring for this wonderful woman -- even though I believed I would've not been able to handle things if I wasn't "gifted and talented". I probably would've gotten my ass kicked. Rachelle explained that by the time the police arrived, the two idiots were up but they were incoherent and nothing they said made sense.
    
      "Good God, sugar," she regarded me with fear and awe. "What'd you do to them?"
    
      "Ancient Chinese secret," I borrowed the videogame quip again.
    
      It was nice to sit quietly with this black beauty in my company. But I felt this distinct feeling of unease as I saw a small shape cavorting in the study. Melanie tended to do what she wanted in my room, as I never sought to restrain her inhibitions. I didn't know what she could be doing in there. She could be dancing nude, exploring herself in front of a mirror, or trying to find out how many number two pencils she could cram in her mouth (her personal record was 36).
    
      Although I was fine with Melanie's antics, Rachelle would probably call the cops -- or at best never see me again. So I had to usher her back home. Before I did though, I asked what was on my mind.
    
      "No one's asked me down to the principal's office," I said, "Should I be worried?"
    
      "No you're fine I think," Rachelle murmured, "They asked if I knew who you were, I just said I waved because you waved. Don't worry about it."
    
      At least there was that. Despite my bravado, I wasn't sure if the witnesses twisted the truth to avoid getting on my bad side or to hide the fact that big guys like that were floored by a little Chinese fucker, but I wasn't pestered for that altercation. At the time, I thought it a lucky combination of incidents, but someone in the invisible empire had simply taken care of the report and nothing came of it.
    
      Those fools had their asses handed to them by martial arts. That was it. I felt foolish about what I said next, but I wanted to keep Rachelle around for a little while longer.
    
      "Would you want to stay a little longer?" I asked her. "You could stay the night if you want."
    
      "That's sweet of you," Rachelle demurred, "But I'll be all right. Besides, where'd we find time alone if your little sister was around?"
    
      "Oh, she's just one of Andrew's classmates," I stretched the truth a little. "I tutor her on my off time."
    
      Yes. Tutor her in pleasing me sexually.
    
      "Oh," Rachelle laughed. "That was very bad of me to think that. I'm sorry."
    
      "That's all right," I waved it off. I didn't tell her too much about my family, at least not until I was sure she was sticking around as long as Janet and Melanie did.
    
      "See what I meant when I said you were sweet?" she took my hand and entwined it with hers, "Well, I'd better get out of here."
    
      I showed her out as leisurely as I could. Rachelle stopped me at the door and guided my hands under her skirt. My fingers dug gently into her bare buttocks as she licked my face and neck. Rachelle turned around and slipped her panties off so I could kiss her bare ass. She backed up against the growing bulge in my pants and ground hard against me. She listened carefully to the signals my body (not my mind) gave her and she stopped just short of me cumming. Yes, she was that good.
    
      "You'd better go back," she pulled up her panties, "But think of me when you do."
    
      "I don't think I can't," I amazed myself with the double negative. My face was flush with exertion and my blood hot for her fuckable body. Rachelle bit my lips gently then nudged me away.
    
      "Tomorrow," Rachelle's hand grazed my cock through my jeans. "You tutor me and I'll take care of this guy."
    
      Yep. This was going to turn out well if I kept everything under control. When Rachelle had left, Melanie was lying nude on my bed, her books spread around, her bare feet kicking empty air. She had the tendency to strip at my place. She found that having me being near her made her a little more focused and relaxed.
    
      "So is she your new girlfriend?" she asked me as I locked the doors to my room.
    
      "I suppose so," I regarded her with a mix of apprehension and curiosity.
    
      "Does Janet know?" she asked matter-of-factly.
    
      "No, not yet." I lay wearily down on the soft carpet next to my bed. "I guess you're going to tell her now?"
    
      Melanie ignored my question and asked hers instead. "What's her name?"
    
      "Rachelle," I paused, remembering how she could sometimes hear my thoughts. "Wouldn't you know?"
    
      "I didn't hear anything from her Stanley," Melanie's head peered over the side of the bed. "Will Janet get mad?"
    
      "I don't know," I sighed, "Janet doesn't even know about you."
    
      "Not yet," she sounded smug. Then, "Do you think you and Rachelle can do it and show me?"
    
      I gave her a dirty look and she laughed.
    
      "I only want to see!" she giggled.
    
      "You're getting old enough to know better," I suddenly felt older than I really was.
    
      Melanie hopped off the bed. Enjoying some peace and quiet, I heard water running, and then her soft footfalls on the carpet. Her little hands unbuttoned my fly and unzipped my jeans. I helped her pull my pants down before she began tugging me to stand up.
    
      "Come bathe with me Stanley guo-guo*." [* Cantonese: Brother Stanley, has familial overtones]
    
      "Now?" I asked, "Don't you have homework?"
    
      "So, do you," Melanie placed her small palm on my dying bulge, "But I want to see it."
    
      I surrendered to her attentions and looked forward to a long soak. She led me to the bathroom where she had filled the tub. Melanie sat in my lap, her back facing me. After the lather, we'd rinse much as we did the first time we met (with a quick shower). She had learned by now that she while she couldn't take me fully into her body yet, she could cock-tease me until I came.
    
      She'd then urge me to try penetrating her using a pinky finger. She could barely manage the first knuckle, much less my cock. Hence, I never pressed the issue. But her persistence was what got me hooked. And then, an idea hit me.
    
      Rachelle had left the tube of anal lube at my place so we could try again. Actually, she left a lot of her things at my place. It was like Rachelle was marking her territory with her little knick-knacks. Despite my better judgment (and the lack of it), I persuaded Melanie to try it.
    
      "Anal? Isn't that about the bottom? Won't I get a tummy ache?" she asked, "You said so Stanley."
    
      "I'm not doing it in your butt, Yu-Ching," I pointed at her hairless featureless slit, "We can use it for that too."
    
      Melanie acquiesced. I still wasn't sure if I wanted to be so unabashed with such a small wonder, but I did want to know how much she could take. I emptied the tube of lube over her baby pussy and slowly worked it over with a few fingers. After a while of toil and caressing her petite body, her little hole was slightly agape. It was barely the diameter of a nail-head. After a little more stimulation, Melanie complained that it was starting to hurt, so I stopped. Her hole didn't get any wider.
    
      "Sorry," I told her, "We'll try again next time."
    
      Despite the lack of success, Melanie was still excited from the attention I gave her. She dutifully sucked dick for a little while. With the taste of Rachelle still fresh on my tongue and Melanie wolfing down my cock, I blew a load right into her willing throat.
    
    ===============================================================================
      SEPTEMBER SWEETNESS
    ===============================================================================
    
      In the middle of my junior year, I enrolled in the class which handled the school's newspaper. It was an easy class that was headed by this jolly, goofy Jewish woman. Her husband (the Mad Jew) was teaching the class where I met Rachelle. The same journalism class was a pretty auburn haired girl named Shawn Horten. She wasn't too thick, or thin, or even exceptionally athletic, but she was the best friend (at the time) with another girl named Ashley Kemp, who was a cheerleader on Rachelle's cheer squad. Both girls were two years younger than I. I first met them when they were high school freshmen and immediately came off liking Shawn both for her sound mind, closet lustiness, and honestly fuckable body. I coolly received Ashley. Where Shawn was both warm and bubbly, Ashley always seemed leery and evasive.
    
      By senior year, I had a distinct sense that I was capable of giving off some tell-tale signs that I was "up to no good" when I wasn't totally in control of my mind. Extremely sensitive 'normals' and (in some cases) animals, would pick up on that and be extremely uncomfortable around me. That borderline sixth sense in animals was what clued ancient generations about hemeokineticists and our ilk. Vampire legends indeed! I guessed that was what Ashley had: just an uncomfortable inkling; Melanie regarded me with an innocence Ashley had lost years ago.
    
      In any case, I did my best to mask my intentions. Just from the dirty looks she gave me, Ashley likely bad mouthed me in Shawn's presence, but I never heard a peep about it from Shawn. Even after the big bru-ha-ha at the pizzeria, the rumors that flew around didn't seem to faze Shawn. She remained on friendly terms with me.
    
      Shawn, Ashley, and I were just three of the students on the staff (if one could call it that, everyone having such short tenures). Aside from those two girls, there was Cindy, David, Barbara, Peter, Jenny, Scott, and Jamie. The few hangers-on didn't contribute or only did the minimum assigned in class or they dropped the course and new faces filled the classroom.
    
      Mrs. Rubenstein pretty much ran the course by the seat of her pants (she wasn't a real journalism teacher). I remember one week we watched movies almost back to back for lack of anything interesting. The movies were the like of "A Case of Libel" (a black and white about libel), "The Impossible Spy" (a film to tickle her Jewish fancy), and "Boyz in the Hood" (she was the only one who expressed any visible sympathy in the end).
    
      Cindy Chin (who Anglicized her name from Sing Yee) was the managing editor, although she pretty much carried the whole paper on many occasions. Without her, I doubted we would've had much paper to print. About the only thing I remember of her (apart from her perfectionist attitude) was a classmate (one of the computer club geeks) turned Cindy down to go to our senior class prom.
    
      David Gee was the computer fellow, although back then, Pagemaker was really hard to implement into our cut and paste system. He became a systems analyst for a middleware company. Jenny Siu was a chubby chick, bespectacled, and above all, forgettable. She enjoyed reviewing movies though, although none (movies or reviews) were spectacular.
    
      Barbara Kingston was a thin, bespectacled, lanky blonde. I read her mind (lightly) one day and found she was experimenting bisexually with another girl (who later underwent sex reassignment; go figure). Barbara wasn't half bad looking though, but she was probably experimenting just a little too early and without a knowledgeable tutor. Perhaps I was put off by her extreme height (a girl who's six even back in high school is rather noticeable), or I just didn't like blondes, but I never took Barbara up on anything save business.
    
      Peter Boyd and Scott Meiderhoff were about the only two guys apart from me in this class full of girls. Peter was a smooth talker. He had danced, dated, and tried to sleep with most of the girls in my grade since middle school, but his style was getting rapidly out of date. He constantly tried to pick up Asian girls after Barbara, Jenny, Shawn, and (especially) Ashley shot him down. Hence, the rest of my time at high school, he tried to butter up to Jamie (especially after the stabbing incident).
    
      Scott I didn't see much. He was our photographer, and back then, the only thing that needed a high-speed camera and a flexible zoom lens was the school's football team. He was usually away tinkering with his camera, developing film near the band room (which shared locker space with the photography club). The last time I saw him, he was fighting lung cancer, having having spent a little too much time with film-developing chemicals and mixing them with potassium-bromide pills for an illegal high during his tour in Afghanistan.
    
      Jamie Young was a pretty average girl. Her one claim to infamy came at the cost of her boyfriend's life. An ex-boyfriend showed up at our Winter Ball (a dance held around December) in our last year of high school, and stabbed the unlucky kid. Jamie's current boyfriend didn't survive and the attacker found himself in jail. I know because I was there; I was Rachelle's date for that dance. I noticed Jamie wasn't quite right in the head after that. Peter's constant pestering naturally didn't help.
    
      So that was how the class was for the last half of my junior year (along with Peter, Cindy, Barbara, and Jamie -- the rest of the class was younger than us by one to two years) and starting my senior year. Unlike Melanie, who had her birthday in January, or Janet, who celebrated her birthday after school let out (June), my birthday occurred in the month most schools start (September). Thus, I was seventeen going on eighteen when I had gotten into the swing of juggling three girls and a busy schedule.
    
      I'd meet Melanie after my final class let out and accompanied her the 20 feet from the school yard to her front door whenever I had the time. Sometimes when I had extra work to do or if I wanted to goof off at the computer club (which essentially played videogames instead of doing any computer learning), Melanie would instinctively "know" I wouldn't show and would head home on her own.
    
      However, she would always extract some kind of concession from me the next time, as if to encourage me to not take her for granted. Things had gotten from 'hold my hand' to 'give me a kiss' to 'I mean kiss me like you kiss Janet and Rachelle' to 'Come bathe with me'. Melanie's insistence that we go all the way didn't help lower the pressure.
    
      Janet's last phone call also got me jittery. She wished me a happy upcoming birthday, and said loudly she would gladly fly back and fuck my brains out if only it was my eighteenth birthday.
    
      "Just one more year honey," she slurred drunkenly over the phone.
    
      I had forgotten that she had just turned 21 a few months earlier. Janet wanted to celebrate with me, but couldn't fly back because of the lack of money. However, she was able to drink herself silly and buzz herself to a vegetative state with her vibrators. Still, Janet knew I was up to something just because my correspondence and phone calls to her were getting to be fewer and growing shorter (respectively) because of the increase of school work, college applications, and Rachelle's and Melanie's almost constant demand for my attention.
    
      It didn't help that I hadn't told Janet about Melanie, or for that matter, about Rachelle. However, I felt that Janet would be a little more understanding that I dated a girl my age, and not robbing the proverbial cradle. Still, cheating on my First wasn't what I really wanted.
    
      Rachelle was pretty much blind to Melanie and knew nothing about Janet until later. She was miffed though, when she heard about Shawn. Honestly, there's little a 'normal' could do once their mind has been dominated by one of us for a long period of time; it was psychic addiction. Added to that, I treated Rachelle fairly and I simply told her how things would be. She was free to do what she wanted. Ultimately, Rachelle's decision was her own.
    
      Therefore, Melanie was probably the only one who knew everyone from the start. She knew a lot about Janet simply because she would ask me about her letters every time she visited me. She knew about Rachelle, and even fell asleep one day in the other room while Rachelle and I had a quickie. Knowing that someone in the other room could walk in on us made Rachelle stain my mattress so thoroughly with her jizz, I had to finally throw it out.
    
      "Do you think Janet and Rachelle would be mad if they knew I kissed you?" Melanie asked coyly the day before as I walked her home.
    
      "I guess they won't mind," I admitted. Not unless you told them you kissed my prick, I thought. In that case, they'd probably kill me.
    
      September neared its end and Melanie made me close my eyes for my birthday present. I didn't know what she had planned, but I did it just so she'd be happy. Before I knew it, I tasted something sweet and hard in my mouth along with something earnestly familiar: Melanie's familiar scent in my nostrils. I opened my eyes and found Melanie had ungraciously fed me a piece of sugar candy with her mouth.
    
      I was so shocked by her sudden act of perversion that all I could do was stand and let her finish tongue-fuck my mouth. She whispered a quiet, 'Goodbye,' before she quickly closed the door. I had feared getting caught by someone, but since her main door made a right angle turn into the house, it would be hard to see from just passing by on the street. I stepped out and saw no one. Counting my luck, I reminded myself to have a chat with Melanie about her behavior next time.
    
      So, I found myself purposely evading Melanie the next day until I could decide how to discipline her. I sat in the in the editing bay late after-school, trying hard to find fault with Cindy's op-ed piece (it's hard to fault a perfectionist) while also trying to find some excuse to weasel out of Barbara's invitation to attend some nonsense hippie music concert.
    
      I was so busy mulling over what to do with a barely controlled fifth grade nymphomaniac who could literally blackmail me for the rest of my short life, that I failed to notice Shawn had slipped into the editing bay and was furiously trying to get my attention. I only noticed she was there when she suddenly pushed her freckled face in front of me.
    
      "Hot! Fuck!! Dammit!!" I was so surprised that I nearly fell and smashed my head against a table corner.
    
      "How're ya'doin' Stanley?" Shawn grinned broadly. "Nice of you to notice your biggest fan."
    
      "Right," I picked myself up.
    
      Ever since I had written a series of op-ed pieces about the responsibility of education lay not just with the teachers, but with the students, and having an option to opt out on "school spirit" rallies in lieu of study hall, Shawn had begun talking to me a lot more. Every time one of my op-ed pieces on other issues went out, she'd would ask for a clipping. Rachelle chided me about my criticism about the rallies, but she respected it, as I respected her hard work on her cheer squad.
    
      "Being happy all the time is hard," I admitted to her. And she agreed.
    
      Although me being Rachelle's boyfriend was probably the worst kept secret that year, Shawn would always try to bump into me between her classes (that was easy after she photocopied my class schedule). Her stalking only increased thereafter.
    
      While she'd spend most of her lunches with Ashley, she'd find time to locate me once a week to engage in small talk. Once, she even found me and Faraz at the Class Clown and joined us right there. She was friendly with everyone, even Faraz. When she learned of his family's history in Bahgdad, she didn't feign shock -- she was shocked.
    
      "Wow," Faraz remarked afterwards. "She is very idealistic."
    
      His English had gotten steadily better over time. I asked if he wanted to take Shawn off my hands, but Faraz smelled a trap. Besides, he admitted, he wanted to date an Iraqi girl, or at least someone who wasn't so damn American.
    
      "Palestinian. Lebanese. Maybe even Turkish," he ticked off his preferences.
    
      "How about Indian?" I joked.
    
      "Maybe," he did a little Bollywood dance, "If she have good titties and asses."
    
      So there I was in the editing bay alone with someone I thought was my stalker. Well, my second stalker. I already had Melanie. Shawn had begun leaving big hints of what she wanted to do. Once or twice, she had shamelessly torn off a piece of my lunch sandwiches -- while I was eating them -- and popped it right into her mouth. I thought it was unsanitary. Those geeks in the computer club were in disbelief; Faraz swore Shawn probably wanted to bear my children.
    
      With so much trouble from Melanie, I didn't want anything to do with Shawn. But no matter how much trouble she proved to be, Shawn was friendly, cute, and approachable. She also had a such a fun spirit I just couldn't ignore.
    
      "What're you doing here --?" we both started talking, looked at each other and laughed.
    
      I urged her to speak first. Shawn hopped up on the cutting table, letting her feet dangle over the cheap vinyl floor as I returned to my seat at the editing bay.
    
      "I thought I saw lights on," she slipped off her brogans. "Why don't you turn those lights off and use some natural sunlight for a change?"
    
      "Because I'm editing and you're not." My reply came off a bit ruder than I wanted to, but my heart was still thumping from the scare she gave me. I took a few breaths to calm myself. "Besides, why are you here?"
    
      "Ashley's at cheerleader practice," Shawn toyed with some scraps on the tabletop, "I told her I'd meet her later."
    
      "Uh-huh. Sure." I wasn't paying her much attention. I was busy zapping Cindy's deliberate British spellings back into American English.
    
      "You know, Stanley," she leaned over so her body was reclining across the cutting table, "You're not going to find that many mistakes with Miss Perfect's piece."
    
      "Yeah right," I said absently. "I see you checking out Cindy's ass."
    
      "You perverted dork," she laughed despite the crudeness of my joke. "I meant her op-ed."
    
      "Shows what you know, newbie," I shot her a quick glance. "She spells like a Brit and does it to show off. Now get off there, you'll cut yourself if you're not careful."
    
      Shawn rolled off the table so clumsily I thought she might fall. When I reached out to catch her, she quickly found an excuse to entwine herself within my arms. The next thing I knew, her white, underage bubble butt was grinding on my lap. She laughed at my look of surprise, then ignored me and glanced over Cindy's op-ed.
    
      "She's ready to go," she chirped. "Can't go wrong with B-E-H-A-V-I-O-U-R and R-E-C-O-G-N-I-S-E for the bitch of Brightport."
    
      "I just want you to know that even if I'm American," I jabbed her sides. "I take my job seriously."
    
      She yelped and elbowed me in the ribs.
    
      "Insult me and my country will you?" She saved my work and proceeded to put the computer to sleep. "I don't have to take that! I'm made 100% in the U-S-of-A!"
    
      "Stop that," I tried to bat her busy hands away from the mouse and keyboard.
    
      "Tag it and bag it soldier!" she growled and turned off the monitor.
    
      I hadn't been in JROTC since tenth grade (and Shawn was in middle school) but I had kept a snappy military ensemble to jerk around with new cadets during inspection day every Wednesday. Shawn had teased me about that after she discovered I wasn't in JROTC when she swiped my class schedule.
    
      "C'mon stop it Shawn," I gave her an ultimatum. "Enough's enough. I have work to do."
    
      Shawn's sky blue eyes stared deep into mine while she sat awkwardly on my lap. We remained like that for a while, neither she nor I saying a thing. I always wondered what she was thinking at that moment when she decided to go for broke. I didn't recoil when she kissed me, nor did I react like a horny teenager when she drew away.
    
      You might think that bizarre, but keep in mind there's often a little more than simple physical attraction when it came to love-making. I was in tune with Janet. She had excited me as only an older girl could. Her body developing into a woman, she promised to entice me more with her charm.
    
      I tolerated Melanie at first, but my littlest darling still had a long road to go before she captured my heart (along with everyone else). It wasn't simply that I was psychically tuned to her, but there were a bunch of other related factors. I had seduced her and I was responsible.
    
      With Rachelle, it was pure lust at first, but I found her to be a bright young woman who just needed the proper motivation to be successful. Her popularity aside, she introduced me to other people in her circle, and with a telepath working the crowd, you'd be surprised at the crap one could pick up.
    
      Shawn, although she was pretty, didn't intrigue me as much. Although we got along well at first, I regarded her more as a friend than a romantic interest. Perhaps it was a problem of race, as she was so foreign to my eyes. Rachelle wasn't Asian, but then again, she was also smoking hot. That helps regardless of what mixture of races she was.
    
      After I hadn't reacted as she thought I would, Shawn grew somewhat miffed.
    
      "Kiss me, you dummy," she said flatly.
    
      "Oh, sure," I kissed her lips lightly but she didn't move or react.
    
      "Oh God," Shawn stood up abruptly. "She was right --"
    
      She stumbled over her brogans and slipped them on as elegantly as she could, then began heading towards the door. I barely realized what was going on before I rose to stop her.
    
      "She was right about what?" I asked confused.
    
      "It's nothing," she muttered under her breath. The combination of her sniffling and aversion to look at me, plus the intense wave of sadness, anger, and confusion that I picked up, I knew she was crying.
    
      "Hey, hey," I tried to hug her, but she angrily shouldered me away.
    
      "Don't --" _sniff_ "hey--" _snort_ "me," she barely managed to stay coherent amidst her breakdown. She snapped the tissue from my hand and blew her nose loudly. Then she sat morosely on a spare chair by the stationery locker.
    
      "Geez, Shawn," I knelt beside her, "I'm sorry. I have --" I paused "-- a girlfriend."
    
      Make that several. And you can be next you shameless little hussy.
    
      "You mean Rachelle right?" Shawn glared at me, "Because Ashley said she saw you with that girl from the elementary school."
    
      Shock rocked my body. Ashley saw me with Melanie? When did that happen? And how was it I didn't see her when Melanie shoved that lozenge down my throat?
    
      Shawn ignored my surprise and had gone on talking, "... was probably your sister, but she said that's really weird because you two didn't live in the same house."
    
      "Ashley said that?" I said evenly.
    
      That bitch was spying on me!
    
      "I thought that the girl was your kid sister," Shawn looked down, all glum. "Ashley didn't believe me and said you two lived in different houses."
    
      "She's not my sister."
    
      She eyed me warily. "Then who is she?"
    
      To deceive this cute naive girl before me would be morally reprehensible, yet I had to look out for my own interests.
    
      "That's just a girl I tutor," I said.
    
      Yes. Tutor in sex. And if you're so eager, I glanced at her wryly, I could do you as well.
    
      "Really?" Shawn brushed back some of her rusty brown hair behind her ears. "You tutor? You sure have a lot of time with all that going on with Rachelle."
    
      "Oh?" I stood over her and folded my arms. "What've you heard?"
    
      Under my coaxing, Shawn slowly related to me what Ashley would reveal from the cheer squad's locker room. Rachelle had dropped subtle hints that she was dating this awesome guy. At first, she'd mixed up a little of the truth -- her old boyfriend and me. Then at the start of the senior year, she altered things slightly after the incident at the pizzeria. Now her boyfriend was both a lover and a fighter.
    
      Now Ashley had gotten jealous. I felt from Shawn's tone that her best friend had a queen bee mentality. She wouldn't be able to stand the fact that Rachelle was now pretty much queen of the hive. Rather than biding her time (Rachelle and I just had one more year and we'd be in college), Ashley decided to do some snooping worthy of any investigative journalist.
    
      She found out that the guy at the pizzeria was with a Middle Eastern kid. That was pretty easy, since Ghandia and Heidi were there at the fight. Also, Faraz was probably the only Iraqi student in our school, so Ashley didn't have any trouble finding out who I was. Shawn explained that Ashley shadowed me when she could and found that I visited the elementary school. She'd then follow me and Melanie home.
    
      "See, that was the thing that got me," Shawn blurted. "Ashley said you'd bring that kid home, or walk her back to hers, but she'd never see you with Rachelle."
    
      "So you two weren't sure if Rachelle was just doing rumor mongering or telling the truth?" I mused. I looked at her and decided to explain things on the most superficial level. No need to scare off a new filly, eh?
    
      I explained to Shawn that Rachelle was seeing me, and I tutored some kids on my spare time (actually, just Melanie, and it wasn't book tutoring). I left out Janet for the time being, and simply said having Rachelle -- quite literally one of the most popular girls in the school -- as a girlfriend was new to me.
    
      "Because," I admitted, "Rachelle's kinda like the first girl I --"
    
      I stopped, wondering about Janet and what it would mean if it all came out later. Rachelle was the first girl my age I had sex with but she was definitely not my first. That occurred five years before when I bedded my First, my Janet. Nevertheless,  Shawn misunderstood my meaning completely. Her blue eyes went wide and she hid her mouth so I couldn't see her giggle.
    
      "What're you hiding?" I regarded her with amusement.
    
      "Nothing!" She batted away my hand. "Now stop it!"
    
      I poked softly at Shawn's pudgy waist and she gave a surprised yelp.
    
      "Stop it!" she yelled, "Or I'll write how you lost your virginity to Rachelle!"
    
      That hardly fazed me. Shawn's bright eyes and gleeful smile put a playful edge to everything she said and did. Despite her threat, I knew she'd never carry it through. It wasn't in her nature to engage in that sort of mischief.
    
      "Know my secrets, eh?" I squeezed her waist playfully. "I'll tickle you silent."
    
      Shawn gave a shriek and bolted from her chair, but there was really no where for her to go in the little back room of the journalism classroom. She braced herself, ready for me to rush her, but I played it cool and sat back down at the editing bay.
    
      "You're no fun," she said wistfully and let down her guard.
    
      As soon as she did, I snapped up her wrist and dragged her across my lap. Shawn let out a terrified shriek as I reached everywhere on her, poking, grabbing, tickling. When I felt she was at the brink of getting mad, I playfully paddled her ample bottom then deftly flipped her around in my arms.
    
      "Stop," Shawn wriggled free. "Okay, you've got me. I won't bug you anymore."
    
      "Now why wouldn't I want that?" I asked her as we both composed ourselves.
    
      "Because you're seeing Rachelle," she picked herself up. "God, I feel so stupid."
    
      Shawn headed over to the small wash basin in the back of the editing bay and rinsed her hands. I went behind her and put my arms around her.
    
      "Stanley stop," she said it, but didn't mean it. "Think of Rachelle."
    
      "That's a good suggestion." I turned her around and kissed her.
    
      Shawn tried to mumble something more, but I flat out silenced her. I turned the water faucet off, and carried my Central Valley cutie to the drafting table. Shawn at first didn't react as she did before. I rubbed her ear gently as I teased her freckled baby face and nose, and worked my magic on her. Soon enough, I felt her hands tugging at my chest and arms.
    
      I stood back a bit as Shawn lay there in silent disbelief. I knew what she was thinking: 'Oh God, he's going to do me.' 'But what about Rachelle?' 'Do I even want to?' 'But he's so fucking hot.'
    
      The last thought made me chuckle, because I never regarded myself as good looking or popular. Shawn glanced at me timidly and I gave her a reassuring smile. I felt awful about not revealing more to this sweet young girl. Being Caucasian, Shawn stood almost at my height, despite being two years younger. Her arms went around my neck and I felt her tongue part my lips. Not being able to stand it anymore, I let my right hands slide down her blouse, quickly undoing the buttons.
    
      She let out a moan as I bit her gently on the neck. I kissed her bare shoulders and she yielded more to my advances. Shawn by now had given up any pretense at approaching me decently and was quickly took off her blouse.
    
      "Lock the door," she said. "Hurry."
    
      I turned off both the lights and locked both doorknobs. Shawn had removed her top, showing she had these little budding C-cup breasts. Her body wasn't all athletic and tight like Rachelle. Shawn had a little baby fat, but that infantile pudginess was what made her so cute. She gasped when I skillfully took off her bra (thank you Janet), and I merely smiled as I kissed her lightly while my fingers brushed her soft pink nipples. Shawn gulped for air as I tasted her body above the waist.
    
      "Oh -- my -- fuck --" she bit her lip as my tongue slowly licked and flicked one nipple while I gently rolled the other between my fingers.
    
      Shawn's eyes were wide with anticipation as I delivered kisses across her breasts and stomach. I slowly sowed a trail of affection towards her neck, and the old drafting desk creaked as her legs wrapped around me.
    
      "Oh God -- oh my God. Fuck Ashley," she panted. "That bitch."
    
      "Sssh," I kissed her to shut her up. "Think nice thoughts."
    
      I put warm kisses on her breasts and stomach. I wanted to give her a raspberry (snurb/motorboat) but thought the better of it. Instead, I tongued her sweaty, salty navel.
    
      "Stanley!!" Shawn's fingers closed around my head as I worked lower.
    
      Her denim jeans were hot and heavy with her scent. Unlike Janet and Melanie, who both had mild pearly scents or Rachelle, whose spicy, nutty musk permeated her space, Shawn had an oddly flavorful odor I never tasted before. I suppose it wouldn't have surprised me if I slept with more Anglo girls, but I didn't, so I found Shawn very exotic.
    
      I pulled her pants off, and I saw Shawn's legs needed some slight grooming. Still, the red brown fuzz was like soft down. I soon learned how nice they felt once she wrapped them around me. I didn't care to notice even as I slipped off her underwear. I found her tampon string and coiled it around my finger. I stroked her legs gently as I pulled the wrinkled white thing slowly out of her.
    
      "Oog," Shawn shuddered with anticipation.
    
      I kissed the insides of her legs and worked my way up towards her pink little cunt. One whiff of her sweet sophomore cheeks, and I was delirious with lust. My dick went to attention, restrained only by my jeans. She cried softly as I lifted both her legs high so I could tongue her pink puss and ass. I'd never taken a woman apart from Rachelle without a shower, so Shawn's unfiltered mix of urine, shit, sweat, and lust hit me harder than I could've anticipated.
    
      The spontaneity of our love-making also gave us impetus to fuck like rabbits. Soon enough, she was slick from the attentions of both my tongue and fingers to her honey pot. A clear ooze trickled down from her engorged cunt lips signaling her readiness.
    
      I was more careful this time around. Fortunately, there was a packet of condoms someone from the PRC had tacked onto the billboard in the editing bay. It was from there that I pulled out a wrapped rubber. I pulled it quickly over my erection and stood over her. Shawn looked down and saw what I was about to do. I tapped my stiff cock against her baby smooth skin and rubbed it up and down her wet snatch.
    
      She glanced at me, and I gave her a reassuring kiss. Shawn shuddered as I pushed into her. There was immediate urgency to pump her fast and dry before time ran out, but I didn't convey that urgency. I simply hovered over Shawn, enjoying her sweet warmth wrapping around my cock, and I could feel her cunt twitch as it adjusted slowly to this new intrusion.
    
      "Feels good?" I whispered to her.
    
      Shawn nodded. I took her hand and our fingers came together as we did. She gasped as I began to move. Her legs were resting on my shoulders, leaving me hands free to hold hers as I pumped her slow and easy. Her eyes flirted with me, daring me to go further as I pounded her baby geyser.
    
      Wanting to let her go at her own pace, I bent over, scooped her up. Shawn emitted a high pitched mew as I carried her over to the editing bay's seat. I sat down so she sat nicely on my erection. With more freedom to move, she gyrated her hips and felt my cock pulse against her woman walls. She had her arms around my neck letting her gather me towards her as she bounced on my fun stick to her delight.
    
      "Nnngg -- nngh -- oh -- ngh -- errgh," Shawn grunted as her hands began clutching fistfuls of my hair.
    
      A few minutes more of effort and I felt her body convulse. Shawn seized up like I had brain-brawled her but it was just her way of having an orgasm. Her eyes were rolled back and her mouth was open but I felt her body jerk and her cunt spasm, so I knew she was awake. Shawn shivered as her body came down from her newly discovered high. I felt her breath, pulse, and thoughts race as my skin touched hers. Her whole body was flush with excitement and exertion. Her blue eyes regarded me with wonder as her orgasm passed.
    
      Amazingly, my cock was still stiff and hard. I hadn't cum yet. Shawn mewed again as I picked her up once more. I lay her across the drafting table again and began to take care of my business. She propped herself up on her elbows and watched my colorful latex sheathed cock pole in and out of her body. Having dipped just briefly into the ecstasy that she could regularly feel, Shawn was visibly disappointed when I cut short my thrusting as I shot my load into the latex receptacle.
    
      "Sorry, baby," I pulled out and peeled the condom off me. "I think we'd better dress."
    
      "Oh. Okay," Shawn said awkwardly.
    
      I picked her clothing back up off the floor and helped her dress. As my fingertips would touch her here and there, I picked up bits and pieces of her post-coital thoughts. Knowing she was expecting more, so I pulled her close as soon as she pulled her top on.
    
      "Hey," I said quietly. "Are you all right?"
    
      She nodded. Her fingernails scratched the back of my hand lightly. She was both excited and frustrated that things had to end so abruptly. She let me button her blouse back up but said nothing during that time.
    
      "Let's make it a real date next time," I brushed aside her hair and kissed her neck.
    
      She twisted around and looked at me. "What about Rachelle?"
    
      "What about her?" I asked.
    
      "Don't you care about her?" she asked. "I mean you said it yourself, you're seeing her."
    
      I had to make things work well and quickly. Although Rachelle and I had an agreement not to make our thing public in school, Shawn could rapidly derail everything I worked at. Plus the cheer practice was about to let out.
    
      While Rachelle would try to meet at my place, that was no guarantee we wouldn't collide in the hall. I knew Rachelle would try to avoid meeting me at school. That was one thing she and I had in common: we both cherished our privacy and kept separate our public and private lives.
    
      "Look, I like Rachelle," I admitted, "But I also like you. I mean you like chocolate ice cream as much as you do mocha: do you always eat one over another?"
    
      "Are you comparing me to ice cream?" Shawn growled unkindly. Then, "How'd you know I like chocolate and mocha?"
    
      "Lucky guess," I shot her a grin. "Considering you did melt in my hands."
    
      Shawn gave me one of those sounds only a girl her age could make.
    
      "C'mon, you know my locker right?" I soothed her. "You've followed me enough. Just drop me a note when you're free or whenever."
    
      "And then what?" she asked. "Are you going to write back? And with everyone watching? That could get ugly."
    
      "I see you every day here," I said. "I'm just saying you can leave me a note when you want if you don't want Ashley nosing around your business."
    
      "Oh, I see," she said. Then she raised the question I didn't want to deal with, "What about Rachelle?"
    
      "You let me speak with her," I said. "Maybe you two might even become friends."
    
      Shawn let out a loud chortle. "As if!" And she stuck her tongue out.
    
      I pulled her close and kissed her demurely on the cheek.
    
      "You know, Ashley was always shy when we were kids," she confessed. "That all changed when she started on the cheer squad."
    
      "Did you feel left out?" I asked.
    
      "No. I mean she was just jealous of all the boys I talked to. She just wanted what I did naturally," she wrinkled her nose, "No miniskirt needed."
    
      "Damn straight," I patted her butt. "You're au-natural darlin'."
    
      "You know you have a Southern accent sometimes?" she eyed me curiously.
    
      "Yeah," I repeated a joke I heard on TV. "See, when I get excited, I sound Caucasian."
    
      "You're terrible," Shawn made a face but she hugged me anyway.
    
      We were quiet for a bit. She knew then that I had feeling for her. Despite all the others, I would reserve a small portion of myself for my quaintest darling, my approachable girl next door.
    
      "You and Rachelle," she finally broke the silence. "God, she's pretty."
    
      "So are you," I brushed her cheeks gently.
    
      "No wonder you're so popular," her cheeks dimpled.
    
      "I doubt that," I countered, "Have you seen me? I've seen me and I'm not all that man-pretty."
    
      Shawn laughed at that description. It was something I picked up from her torrent of thoughts.
    
      "Oh, you're a guy all right," she said her voice full of mirth, "Don't you know what makes a guy great?"
    
      "If I did," I said with a smile, "Do you think I would've jumped your bones?"
    
      "No," she bent her lips inward to stop laughing, "I guess not."
    
      "Anyway," Shawn continued, "I think we like guys who know what they're doing and who aren't jerks."
    
      "Really?"
    
      "Well, I do," she said flatly.
    
      "If I'm a jerk," I mused, "You don't seem to mind."
    
      "No, I've been a jerk," she said, "Trying to jump your bones when you have a girlfriend."
    
      "I didn't mind that," I squeezed her hand.
    
      "And stalk you."
    
      "I didn't notice you at registry," I squeezed her again, "Or at first period. At second. Third. And when you joined Faraz and me at the pizzeria."
    
      "Oh, shut up!" She slapped my face playfully. I squeezed her waist this time, and she yelped.
    
      "You know," she put her head on my shoulder, "Rachelle must've started some buzz last year, because hearing her talk about her new mystery guy is like the only thing that gets those girls talking." Shawn paused a bit then went on, "At least that's what Ashley's been saying."
    
      That was interesting. I had always thought Ashley's icy demeanor was from her being an uptight bitch. Perhaps there was more to her than I realized.
    
      "Huh," I regarded her with a measure of sternness, "You're pretty, smart, and sexy."
    
      Shawn raised her head to look at me, "Flatterer."
    
    ===============================================================================
      OCTOBER RUSH
    ===============================================================================
    
      Before I go on with Shawn's story, let me go back just a little to summer '93, earnestly one of the happiest ones I remember. Melanie was still taking her first steps into womanhood (with my cock as her cane), Janet slipped back for a visit, and I had Rachelle the rest of the time.
    
      Actually, Faraz had a part in this as well, and the better for him as it turned out to be one of the best things to happen since he arrived in this country. As Shawn had mentioned, Ashley thought herself as the up and coming queen of the hive. If that were so, then my dark darling Rachelle was the head of her hive.
    
      If Rachelle was a queen, then she had her ladies in waiting. Or more specifically, some girls on the cheer squad who hung around her on and off the court. One was a girl of mixed Indo-Pakistani and Semitic (Arabic or Jewish) descent. I only remember her name as Ghandia and something about her father being some admirer of Ghandi. I wasn't so sure about her mother save that she was from the Gaza region -- Rachelle becomes incoherent once she puts away a few.
    
      Ghandia was as tall as Rachelle, her skin a dusky pearl white. Her features were very sharp and she had a hawkish nose. She was very pretty and attended honors classes alongside me. Although I didn't mind checking her out, the very fact that Rachelle was so close to Ghandia made me uncomfortable about messing around with this exotic beauty. I was comfortable with my other conquests though -- Melanie was innocuous and Janet a thousand miles away. Besides, I figured I was already cutting it close with Shawn; luckily, my homegrown darling was sailing under Rachelle's radar at the time.
    
      However, Ghandia piqued my interest soley because of Faraz. He had met Ghandia by sheer chance when Rachelle and I headed out to Santa Cruz for one of our summer dates. Well, it turned out to be more of a chaperoned trip. Because none of us were old enough to drive alone, Rachelle's mother acted as chaperone and chauffeur. Rachelle's siblings came along so there was little room for anyone else in the car.
    
      Faraz came to our rescue by driving his car. He was a year older and had access to a mini-van. He was able to drive me, Ghandia, and Heidi (another of Rachelle's cheer squad) down for the day. During our trip there, he became enchanted with Ghandia and had passed along hints that he wanted to know her better. Besides, he couldn't really hide his thoughts from me.
    
      So, the guy set about to woo Ghandia with an ardor I had never seen before. Ghandia was put-off at first, but I made it a point to work Faraz's better qualities (as I saw them) into Ghandia's mind when I was in class with her. It was pretty quick, about a minute or two of work. Within a week or so, Ghandia wasn't madly in love with Faraz, but she had relented and agreed to see him.
    
      That was enough. Faraz treated her well. Ghandia and he dated throughout the rest of high school and into college. There was a brief freeze when they attended different schools, but by then, email and instant messaging was more prevalent and they kept in touch. They announced their plans to be together just before my trip to Hong Kong in 1997.
    
      Everything vanished in a heartbeat four years later. But back to happier times.
    
      Faraz wanted to ask Ghandia to the school's upcoming Halloween party. Rachelle had more adventuresome plans. She had told me that she and her friends had planned on going to the Castro street party later that night. That was my daring darling. She thirsted for the street life that her parents had tried to wean her from.
    
      As much as I wanted to go with Rachelle to the homosexual district for Halloween (it was -- and still is -- one of the wildest parties on the planet) I had planned on something else that night. With Rachelle busy, Melanie occupied at her home (she wasn't allowed out past sundown until she graduated high school), and Janet busy with law school a thousand miles away, I was free to spend much needed time with Shawn.
    
      The impromptu fuck Shawn and I had enjoyed a few weeks earlier brought on some strain between us. It weighed heavily on me when I stepped into class. I would smile, wave, and look right at her; Shawn would do the same, but we became awkward around one another. The playfulness had diminished between us and I for one, knew that Ashley smelled it a mile away (that bitch).
    
      So I was more than a little distracted when I bumped into Rachelle, Ghandia, and Heidi when I was going to my chocolate honey's locker. I was carrying my locker letter for that day but since Rachelle was here, I quickly decided to let her know how I felt in person.
    
      Ghandia hardly gave me notice as she swapped her books from her locker. Only she and Rachelle shared a common registry (what some call 'homeroom'); Heidi had a her registry on a different floor, hence her hanging about was solely for companionship.
    
      Heidi was very much like Rachelle, except her family was very well off. She was Swedish (or Norwegian) and had a big house in the North Beach area; the place with the million dollar homes overlooking the Golden Gate. Although she could've attended private school, she had known Ghandia since middle school and wanted to remain with her friend in high school (Heidi did not attend the preppy Saint Monica's middle school because her parents were not Catholic). Heidi was very much the skinny, European blonde. She was skinny to the point I thought she was starving herself, but she just had a higher than normal metabolism.
    
      Nevertheless, having a GPA of 4.6 (advanced placement courses inflated her score) was pretty damn good for an anorexic cheerleader. The only thing that stopped Heidi from earnestly tutoring Rachelle was a combination of Heidi's impatience and the disparity of her classwork with Rachelle.
    
      Despite the privacy promise Rachelle and I held ourselves to, it was hard not to notice her when she wore her ragged jeans and sporty tank tops. She usually wore sneakers without socks since it was a part of her routine. She'd run laps around the back field to keep in shape. After a quick shower in our gym, she'd use fresh socks to dry between her toes. Then she'd stuff those socks into her gym bag so she could launder them later.
    
      Rachelle had written me some weeks earlier that she was looking forward to go to the Castro with me on Halloween night, but admitted she understood my aversion to avoid dressing up like an idiot. Ghandia already knew about us when she caught Rachelle giving me a hand job while we were at Santa Cruz (just when we thought no one was looking!). After that, my relationship with Rachelle was open to gossip.
    
      "Hi Rachelle," I came up to her and waved. "I didn't know you had classes with these two."
    
      "Oh, hi Stanley," she looked up long enough for a quick smile. "We're just doing research for Takekashi's marine biology class -- Heidi just dropped by for a chat."
    
      Rachelle's brief glance was all she could spare -- all she'd dare spare -- while we were in school. Although Faraz and Ghandia were dating after the ice melted between them, Rachelle and I kept up our lives separate in school. Looking back, I wasn't sure if if was my idea or hers, but it did give us the luxury getting to slowly know one another. We saw enough of each other to appreciate our absences but it didn't dampen our ardor when she'd hide my salami occasionally.
    
      Besides, we were never in incommunicado as we'd still drop our locker letters off on a frequent basis. Rachelle wanted to hang out with her friends, my circle was definitely not something she wanted a part of (as it pretty much consisted of just me). Rachelle wanted to absorb me into her world, and I wasn't going along. Sensing her will was dead set against mine, I had to step carefully and gently refuse her.
    
      "What're you doing here Stanley?" Heidi asked.
    
      "Making a change of plans," I said quickly. "I have to --" fuck Shawn.
    
      Nope. That would be a bad answer. I saw Rachelle up and ready, waiting for Ghandia and Heidi to pack their gear together. I had to come up with some sort of excuse quickly.
    
      "I'm thinking about a double major," I blurted suddenly.
    
      "Double major?" Heidi arched her brow. "That's pretty rough. What're you going for?"
    
      "Architecture and systems engineering," I said slowly.
    
      I hadn't given it as much thought as Heidi believed. However, I knew I could say whatever I wanted, and Rachelle would believe me.
    
      "Basically," I went on, "It's designing smart houses. You know, houses that can keep track of your lifestyle and help you live better, but minus the killer robot mentality."
    
      Heidi chuckled -- a good sign.
    
      "You're studious as always," Rachelle's eyes gleamed, "Are you coming to the Halloween Dance?"
    
      I heard a wisp of her thoughts: 'Please say yes.' 'Please say yes.'
    
      "That's what I wanted to tell you," I planned my words with great care. "This is some heavy duty stuff I'm shooting for so I might be a little busy looking into paperwork and all that."
    
      "Oh," Rachelle didn't sound too happy.
    
      Silently, I heard her: 'Dammit!' 'Stanley, you're going to owe me big!'
    
      "But Faraz," I eyed Ghandia, "He said he's going. Not sure as what though. I'm sure he'll be more than happy to go with you to the Castro."
    
      Ghandia was going to go out with Faraz on Halloween and Heidi planned on going with her beau, Jon-Peter, a cadet captain in JROTC (he later enlisted but more on that later). Ghandia did her best to ignore me, but I could feel her pulse and breathing increase as she tromped past me.
    
      "Well, I guess I'll have to settle with no date," Rachelle eyed me steadily.
    
      "I'll try and make it," I passed along a grin, "But if I can't, just have some fun without me. And if not this time, then Winter Ball."
    
      It was a big thing for us back then, the Winter Ball. It was the holiday dance where the junior and senior classes mixed. Lots of inter-class dating went on there.
    
      "Hey," I looked at Rachelle intently when she didn't respond immediately, "I promise."
    
      "Oh," Rachelle sagged in resignation. Then, "I'll hold you to that. Winter Ball, I mean."
    
      Heidi's mouth hung open as I touched Rachelle tenderly. Rachelle, despite our little secret slipping out and being rejected, embraced me. Realizing what she had done, she composed herself as best she could and started walking. I stepped along side her briefly.
    
      "Just be careful if you're going to Castro," I said quietly, "But have fun just the same."
    
      "I will," Rachelle gave me a peck on the cheek and quickly left for class.
    
      As Rachelle and her friends departed, I heard Heidi exclaim, "Oh my God Raych! Him?!"
    
      I shook my head and headed to the newsroom. I had another promise to keep.
    
    ===============================================================================
      COSTUMES NOT INCLUDED
    ===============================================================================
    
      It was Friday October 29. I had put Rachelle on the back burner earlier that week, but we ran into each other again at the school's costume contest during lunch.
    
      I had a ring side seat to the amateur gathering. I never liked dressing up in costume (or fancy dress) but Shawn had promised to meet me there for lunch. She had no idea what we would be doing later that night, and I wanted to talk to her in person.
    
      The contest was either insanely funny or depressingly ludicrous; one of the geeks from the drama club had the only decent get-up: a Ghostbusters costume with a cardboard proton pack. He got his look down, but his tape deck malfunctioned so he wound up standing around with the rest of the rejects.
    
      Shawn spied me across the yard pretty much the same time as Rachelle. Rachelle hadn't worn her costume yet, but had just put on some cat ears and inked some temporary whiskers and freckles on her face. Shawn froze and didn't move an inch as Rachelle strode up to me.
    
      "So, you're rather under-dressed," Rachelle said and sat by me.
    
      "I could say the same for you." I grinned at my ebony duchess. "Worst. Catwoman. Costume. Ever."
    
      Rachelle laughed. She and I had just watched that episode of The Simpsons with the Comic Book Guy (he didn't have a real name back then -- that's how old we are -- and that's how old the fucking Simpsons are!).
    
      "Pshaw!" she glared at me, "It's just a teaser for what you'll be missing tonight."
    
      I played it off as best I could with a shrug. She looked away and brushed off a piece of lint that wasn't there. I could feel her frustration, but that couldn't be helped.
    
      "Where're Ghandia and Heidi?" I asked.
    
      "Ssh," Rachelle hushed me. "Ghandia and Faraz are at the Gold Chariot. Heidi's there to make sure he doesn't try anything funny."
    
      "Not at that place." I managed a wry grin. The Gold Chariot was a trashy Chinese bakery and pastry shop about four blocks from the school.
    
      "If Faraz and Ghandia get it on there," I went on, "I think they'll be the ones putting their health at risk."
    
      "If that place is so bad," she paused to look at me, "why do you always take me there?"
    
      "Because the take-out is good and you never complained before." I shot back a sardonic grin.
    
      "You cheapskate." She slapped the side of my leg.
    
      I was rubbing the sore spot when Rachelle pointed out the next idiot in costume, and we both had a good laugh. Nowadays, look up the most ass-backwards cosplayer you can find. Multiply his appearance by a factor of ten and you'll be able to get an inkling of the awfulness we were experiencing. I was so distracted by the loser parade I had almost forgotten why I was there.
    
      "Who's your friend over there?" Rachelle jutted her chin.
    
      Incredibly, Shawn was still there but she was leaning against the railing, alternately eyeing the crowd and then us. She did not make a good spy, that's for sure. I waved and bade her to come over.
    
      "Rachelle," I said as evenly as possible, "This is Shawn. She's works with me on the paper. Shawn, you know --"
    
      "Hi Rachelle," Shawn's voice was so timid, I could barely hear her over the hubbub of the costumed freaks.
    
      "Oh hi," the ebony cheer captain shook her hand. It was genial, but I felt a disturbing vibe of a bitch fight/stare down going on right in front of me. I shifted uncomfortably as they started making small talk.
    
      "I don't know many of Stanley's friends," Rachelle admitted, "I bet you think that's strange since I'm his girlfriend."
    
      "Really?" Shawn said weakly. "I -- I didn't know about you and Stanley."
    
      "Hah -- few do," the mulatto whispered so only we could hear, "It's not something we advertise. Isn't that right, sugar?"
    
      Shawn's eyes flashed as Rachelle fawned over her words for me. I had no choice but to answer though.
    
      "Privacy is pretty good," I said finally.
    
      "You have an awful costume sugar," Rachelle turned her attention towards Shawn. "What're you supposed to be?"
    
      "A news reporter," Shawn squeaked. My darkest darling's smile was wide enough to make a shark cringe. I felt Shawn was going to faint without any interference from me. As luck would have it though, Scott showed up as if right on cue.
    
      "Hey Shawn. Hey Stan," he unveiled his camera. "Enjoying the show?"
    
      "Yes," Shawn blurted gratefully. "I mean no. I mean I don't know."
    
      Rachelle smiled at Shawn's clumsiness. Shawn immediately ignored me and started to talk to Scott. It rankled me a little, but I knew the reason why. I had to get rid of Rachelle now or everything I planned would have been for naught.
    
      "So see you later then?" I goaded Rachelle.
    
      "I was hoping you'd take me to lunch," the dark beauty said. "Preferably not the Gold Chariot."
    
      It was really strange that she was so pushy all of a sudden. She normally would leave me alone at school. Maybe it was because she felt I was responsible for siccing Faraz on Ghandia.
    
      "I got a better idea," I tapped Shawn and Scott, "You guys eat yet?"
    
      "I'm good Stan," Scott gave me a thumbs up. "I have to develop this."
    
      "Shawn?" I waited for her to answer. Shawn stood mute with confusion and alarm. I was giving her mixed signals and Rachelle's presence pretty much cowed her into silence. Strangely, it was Rachelle who broke the ice.
    
      "C'mon Shawn," she stood and ushered her towards the gate. "Let's all go to lunch. I want to talk. And there's this place I want to try."
    
      "What place?" I interjected.
    
      "It'll suit you fine," Rachelle said smoothly. "Besides, you're paying."
    
      "Figures." I gave in and followed them to a pho (noodle) place called the Sugar Bowl, one block from the Gold Chariot. It was run by a Vietnamese family. Their son and daughter both attended the school and worked there in their off time.
    
      So, I found myself at lunch with two girls I had deep feelings for. I did my best to make small talk with Rachelle and Shawn. Soon enough we were all talking comfortably with one another.
    
      We ordered and service was pretty quick. Over three steaming bowls of thick rice noodles, we chatted about ourselves -- although I was careful not to say too much. Then suddenly, an unexpected question popped up.
    
      "You know Shawn," Rachelle said. "Why don't you come with us to the Castro on Sunday?"
    
      It took some effort, but Shawn didn't balk or bolt.
    
      "Me?" she grew timid again. "I don't know, it's kinda late."
    
      "Really Rachelle," I fished for excuses, "She's only fifteen."
    
      "Poo!" Rachelle's eyes glowered at me. "It won't be the same without you."
    
      Shawn kept up appearances, but I felt thoughts pop into her mind: 'Crap.' 'Oh crap.' 'Crap.' 'She knows.' 'Omigod she knows.' 'I'm so fucked.'
    
      I did my best to ignore Shawn's sudden panic attack and focused instead on Rachelle. I talked absently with her as I listened to her words and her thoughts. I got the distinct feeling that Rachelle knew I was hiding something. She was now trying to worm it out by pestering my few friends.
    
      Faraz never spoke of my business, or I his (save to drop hints to Ghandia) so he kept mum about Melanie. Besides, he was so infatuated with Ghandia, he barely had the time to dig up any dirt I didn't shed myself. Hence, Rachelle was interested in Shawn if only as a source of information.
    
      As I spoke, I dealt with Shawn's borderline panic and Rachelle's curiosity. I wouldn't say I was an eloquent speaker, but my words have a greater effect when I am mentally persuading a "normal" to believe them. Rachelle ultimately relented, and I'd have to take the chance that she'd believe me. I paid (lucky me) and we were headed back to the school before long. Rachelle and I waved goodbye at the front door and headed back in.
    
      "Hold up Shawn," I walked in step with my Anglo angel. "There's something I need to talk to you about -- your piece on emergency preparedness? You need to bring up some things."
    
      Shawn's next period was band. Her instrument was the flute (or fife -- I forget which). The auburn haired girl was visibly a nervous wreck as she clumsily pulled her music case from her locker.
    
      "You don't have to make up excuses," she said gruffly. "She's out of earshot."
    
      "Well actually," I said slowly, "Your piece is a little too long. I'd like to trim it down a bit -- OW --"
    
      Shawn threw her flute case at me in a fit of anger and hissed loudly at me.
    
      "God Stanley! Did you know how awkward that was? How bad that made me feel?!"
    
      "I -- I'm sorry?" I winced.
    
      "I can't do anything right." Shawn sagged against the lockers and sat with her face in her hands. "God, I'm so screwed up."
    
      I touched her shoulder then I sat beside her.
    
      "Hey look, this wasn't part of the plan," I said to her. "Rachelle just showed up. We had lunch. Okay?"
    
      "I can't do this," Shawn confessed. "I thought I could but it's so hard to see you and her together."
    
      I nodded but refused to give up.
    
      "Here," I undid a key from my key ring, "Take this. Don't lose it."
    
      "What is this?" she looked perplexed. "What's this key for?"
    
      "My place," I said simply. "And this is my only key. If you don't show up --"
    
      I trailed off. Shawn returned my gaze, then stared at the key.
    
      "You're kidding me right?" her tone was one of disbelief.
    
      "Well I do want it back." I found myself smiling despite the risk I was taking. "Preferably before Monday."
    
      "But how I will know where you live?" she asked as I stood up.
    
      "My address is on my locator card," I put her flute case beside her. "You still have a copy don't you?"
    
      "Yes," Shawn blushed, a bit embarrassed.
    
      "Then I'll see you later." I wanted to add, 'I hope' but I had left with the feeling she would show up.
    
    ===============================================================================
      FRIDAY NIGHT DELIGHT
    ===============================================================================
    
      Halloween night would be on a Sunday. I didn't bother to accompany Melanie for trick or treating. Her parents would be there, chaperoning her and a mixed group of her friends (boys and girls) for the trick or treat.
    
      Melanie made her disappointment clear when I told her I would be busy later. She didn't need to guess what I'd be doing with the older girls. She accused me that I didn't love her as much; the little witch then asked me to prove my love by showing up for her next school play.
    
      "What's it about?" I asked.
    
      "Peter Pan," she replied. "I play Wendy."
    
      Great. To soothe her jealousy, I promised that I'd go to her show. The trick of course, was to show up on time and not invoke suspicion of her parents. So that was Melanie. Rachelle I had misdirected at lunch. Now for Shawn.
    
      Although Shawn had my set of keys to the side door that lead to my room, I still had the keys to the door where my family lived upstairs. Andrew and my mother were a bit surprised to see me go through there instead of my usual entrance. My father was out at work as usual (swing shift) and wouldn't be back until midnight. I divulged nothing of my time with the girls so my family was happily ignorant of what I was doing downstairs.
    
      I mentioned that I might be going out later, but would return at a reasonable hour. That was enough notice for now. I used the restroom and grabbed a quick drink of water but didn't leave my school bag or anything else I had on inside. I locked myself back outside after grabbing my spare key to my door. I was content to wait and see what would happen.
    
      Shawn and I shared a similar class schedule: we both started early at 7:30 a.m. and ended at 2:30 p.m. (the first through sixth hours). Rachelle started later and usually stayed till near dinner time with the cheer squad. So, I was more than a bit worried when Shawn didn't show immediately. By 4 o'clock, I was wondering if she'd show up at all. I was leaning against the side of the house wondering if I should head back in and give Rachelle a call, when Shawn popped her head around the corner.
    
      My arms were folded and I was leaning against my own home with my schoolbag on the ground next to me. I must've looked pretty pissed off from a distance.
    
      "Oh my God," she started running towards me. "I'm sorry! Sorry! Sorry!"
    
      Shawn skidded and almost fell over in her hurry to get the door open. Thankfully, I caught her in time so she wouldn't smash her pretty head open on the ground.
    
      "I was thinking you weren't going to show," I picked up my bag and followed her in.
    
      "I'm sorry." She sounded really hurt.
    
      I closed the door and hugged her. I felt her hand on mine.
    
      "I had stuff to do. Band stuff." She let go of my hand and shuffled inside. "God it's dark."
    
      I flicked on the dim light that let her walk without tripping.
    
      "Is this your car?" Shawn pointed at the family sedan in the garage.
    
      "I wish," I explained, "Family car."
    
      "Oh," she stepped into my room and her eyes grew wide, "Wow. You have your own -- everything!"
    
      "Make yourself at home," I said. Why not -- you wouldn't be the first.
    
      Shawn dropped her bags and books in a messy pile on the carpet. She kicked off her shoes and sat down on the sofa near the kitchenette where I had laid Melanie to sleep nearly a year ago. My auburn hair beauty let out a sigh and closed her eyes. I put away my own books and bag, then rinsed my face and hands in the washroom.
    
      "Like some water?" I asked.
    
      "That'd be nice," Shawn said dreamily from the couch.
    
      I filled two glasses with chilled water from the refrigerator and sat beside her. Her relaxed form was still cute; her palms were upturned and her eyes closed.
    
      "You asleep?" I asked her quietly.
    
      "Just catching some Zs," Shawn murmured. "I had a long day. You wouldn't believe it."
    
      "Tell me about it," I turned on the TV, but lowered the volume so one couldn't tell it apart from static hiss.
    
      "Well this guy at school," she wrinkled her nose, "I like him a lot but he barely has any time for me."
    
      I sensed she was toying with me, but I played along.
    
      "Oh?" I quirked a brow. "What's his name? I could talk some sense into him."
    
      "No don't," Shawn turned her to face me, "He's all wrapped up with this girl and he'd never pay any attention to me."
    
      "Well, that sucks for him," I leaned over and kissed her. Unlike that crazy afternoon at school, Shawn and I were now in the comfort of my room, complete with everything one could hope for.
    
      Food and drink? Had that covered. Every Saturday or Sunday morning, I had to accompany my parents to shop for groceries. Not even Melanie would dare interfere. A small amount of groceries would be apportioned to me (and to Andrew, although my brother made due with the upstairs facilities). We were to cook for ourselves as part of growing up.
    
      Bathroom amenities? That too was covered and I was going to make use of it for both Shawn and myself. I worked her over slowly, starting with her lips then I moved onto other parts of her body. Like last time, Shawn's gathering of her daily sweat and grime had made a potent little mixture. It was as spicy as the pho/noodles we had for lunch. She sighed and relaxed as I piled atop her, nibbling at her cheeks, chin, and neck.
    
      "I'm feel so hot and dirty," she complained. "Where's the bathroom?"
    
      "I'll show you," I stood up.
    
      Shawn's mouth opened then quickly snapped shut as I pulled her to the shower. I grinned and began undressing. She disrobed slowly at first. I took delight in watching bits of her body peek through. Shawn wasn't pudgy although her face was full of that baby fat puberty hadn't burned away. Her skin was creamy and oh-so-damn smooth. If she got excited or embarrassed, the most sensitive parts of her would be tinged with an apple pink color. She saw me eyeing her plump rump and quickly turned around.
    
      "Don't look at that," she fidgeted shyly.
    
      "Why not?" I brushed away her hair and kissed her.
    
      She didn't answer as I snaked my hand over her soft bottom and squeezed it gently. We stepped into the shower, our bodies still entwined as the spray hit. She put her hands on the wall, spread her legs and let me wash and cajole her. My fingers pressed against her freckled skin. I'd squeeze firmly as I ran my hands up and down her body.
    
     "Oh fuck, that feels so good," Shawn had hung her head under the spray.
    
     Her hair dangled from her head in a tangled mess and she had her ass sticking out towards me. By now, my dick had pretty much inflated itself (much like my ego) and I pressed it down against her ass crack. Unlike Rachelle, who became very agitated when I neared her baby bucket with a bared cock, Shawn didn't raise a peep. Instead, she arched her back further so I could've slipped it right in and slammed the shit out of her right then and there -- but I didn't.
    
      Having rushed so much last time, I felt that Shawn needed to experience what I always wanted to share. She needed to feel the sheer pleasure of having her body blasted by an incredible orgasm. I turned her around, my hand shielding her face from her wet hair and the shower spray.
    
      "Feel nice?" I asked. She nodded. We lathered, rinsed, then dried ourselves in the living area.
    
      I carried her across the threshold into the brightly lit study and lay her gently on the bed. Shawn stretched out over the sheets, her skin rosy pink from the shower's hot spray. She threw back her damp hair and lay on her side, anxious, nervous and alert. I sat by her and took her hand.
    
      "Okay Shawn," I reached out with my mind to get a jump on her thoughts. "I want you to know that what I'm about to say is private, but I'm telling you this because of what we're about to do. Understand?"
    
      She nodded. I felt her heart start to beat a little faster.
    
      "You know I've slept with Rachelle," I let that sink in before I continued, "But I have a girlfriend who drops in from time to time."
    
      Shawn's eyes grew wide, "What?!"
    
      I felt a wave of emotion wash over me. Disbelief. Surprise. Anger. Hurt. Confusion. Melanie would've likely hit the floor if she was in the room. I pointed at a 4x6 of Janet on my small trophy cabinet.
    
      "That's Janet," I felt some truth now would be best. "I lost my virginity to her some years ago."
    
      "I can't believe this," she bit her lip. "I thought Rachelle was --" she paused, unable to finish the sentence.
    
      "Didn't you ever wonder why?" I asked.
    
      "Why what?" she said.
    
      "Why a girl like Rachelle would go steady with a guy like me?" I managed to laugh.
    
      "Well only a little," Shawn admitted.
    
      "You said it yourself," I reminded her. "You like experienced guys. How d'you think we get that experience?"
    
      "Playboy?" she said sheepishly.
    
      "Stay out of my stash," I pinched her arm gently.
    
      Shawn swatted my hand, "Make me, tough guy."
    
      "Sure, if you say so," I began to massage her.
    
      I toyed with her body for the next hour or so. I went everywhere she'd let me -- her breasts, her neck, under her arms, between her legs, her lovely ass. I soaked up Shawn Ellen's essence and touched her the way she wanted. She couldn't hide her desires from my mind. My fingers would rub her skin hard, then I'd soften my touch so I could scratch the same spot lightly. I rubbed, nuzzled, and massaged her body until her muscles were relaxed and responded pleasurably to my touch.
    
      This and more I had learned from Janet and she from me as we tumbled like happy little fishes so many years ago. My innocence had dimmed as my skill sharpened, but I had much to learn. I desired to know what Shawn wanted and what she could do to me.
    
      As I tirelessly threw her around like a love doll, Shawn would occasionally let out a sigh or a surprised yelp. However, she remained steadfastly shy. She yielded to my advances and made no effort to stir me. I was getting bored with her inattention and sought to remedy that quickly.
    
      By now, I had absorbed so much of Shawn I was swimming in her musky Anglo-woman scent. I was squatting to her side, my two hands playing her body like a zither. With one hand I was softly squeezing her pink nipples and with the other, I was slowly rubbing her fuzzy cunt. I felt her slice slowly dampen as I teased it open.
    
      Shawn parted her lips as she did her legs. Her eyes were glassy with emotion as she looked longingly at me. I moved slightly so I could bend over and kiss her stomach. That's when she decided to finally join me. She hopped up and kissed me deeply. I lowered my jaw to let her tongue fuck my mouth. My cock bumped against her stomach as she pushed me down to straddle me.
    
      "Uffuck," I gasped for breath. She kissed my face and chest then deciding to copy me, she licked my nipples. I groaned and held her against my chest.
    
      "Do that," I begged her. "Do it again. That feels so good."
    
      Shawn obeyed and obliged me with her tongue. I groaned again feeling a familiar upsurge in my throbbing cock. Watching me with one eye, she decided to try something. I saw a flash of her teeth as she bit hard on my nipple. The small shock of pain was greatly thrilling. Instead of me asking her to stop, my fingers pressed hard against her head, driving her to bite harder.
    
      "Aaaaahhh," I gritted my teeth and wanted to blow my load right there but I held it back.
    
      Shawn stopped and pulled herself up to tie her hair back in a knot. I was breathing pretty raggedly. My chest was slick with her spit and my sweat. I clutched hungrily at her adorable thighs.
    
      "You sicko," she stared at me accusingly. "You liked that didn't you?"
    
      Despite her admonishment, she was smiling.
    
      "Yeah," I admitted. "I did."
    
      "Ever do that before?" she asked softly.
    
      "No," I sat up and gave her nipples gentler treatment.
    
      Shawn sucked in her breath as I bit her titties with great care. I used only one row of teeth -- this let me gauge how much pressure I brought with my lips. I did that once to Janet and she was visibly upset. Luckily, she saw I didn't mean it and at that age, our bodies were young and we healed quickly. Janet recovered but she never did the same thing to me. I filed that lesson away and didn't repeat it 'till now.
    
      I felt Shawn nipples harden with each flick of my tongue. She flexed her legs from sitting on me to having them wrapped around me. I heard a soft quiet crack as her joints moved. Her hand presently went on my cock and she was stroking it with an eager ferocity that hurt. I caught her hand and gently guided it to move at a pace that wasn't as painful for either of us.
    
      "Oh God, Stanley," Shawn breathed sweetly into my face. "Condoms. Don't forget the condoms."
    
      I slid us to the edge of the bed and hefted her up. I stumbled over to the dresser where I had a mix of condoms from Janet and Rachelle. I pulled one out from the pack and lurched back towards the bed, my arms still carrying Shawn. I plopped her down on the bed.
    
      Her whole body was now a livid scarlet and her cunt was clearly swollen and ready. I knelt down and kissed the insides of her legs. I was awarded with her escalating gasps of pleasure as I rubbed the tip of my nose over the moist hood covering her clit.
    
      Shawn placed her feet on my shoulders as I began stroking her sweet spot by nodding my head. Her murky scent oozed from her baby slit. With my nose so close, I took in every drop she had and I still begged for more. Her hands were busy over her own breasts, tantalizing her own body while I stroked her stomach and clit. By now, I had opened the condom. I stood after I gave her a few more loving licks.
    
      "It's time," I said, my voice hoarse.
    
      She stared at my cock, her legs splayed open at my knees. I fitted the little black rubber over my rock hard dick and pushed my fuck stick down against her light brown patch. Her puss parted as I pressed in, and Shawn sucked in her breath as I slid in. Despite the layer of latex I could feel her warmth come over me. I put her legs on my shoulder again as before in the news bay. Her fingers entwined behind my head and she pulled me down to be by her.
    
      I pumped Shawn slowly and carefully, to insure that she wouldn't be alarmed or harmed. After a few more moments, she said her legs felt cramped. I let her legs fall and she happily put them to her sides as I fucked her hard and deep. My thrusts started to increase in tempo despite the nice pace I had set. Shawn sensed that I was trying hard not to shoot until she came, but she wasn't as experienced as Janet, or as sensitive as Rachelle. Her legs closed around my hips as I began quicken my movement.
    
      My mind was at a euphoric peak. I pierced her thoughts and found her giddy gregariousness to be a facade to hide her own loneliness. Shawn wasn't an only child by choice -- an accident claimed her older brother. Her family moved here to start a new life when she was young. Because of medical complications, her mother wasn't able to bear more children (this was when invitro was still very expensive and not widely available).
    
      Thus raised, Shawn sought friendship and sibling camaraderie outside of the home. She found kinship with Ashley, who treated her like a sister. She found it with me, when I mentored her. Then one day, she fell in love -- with me.
    
      Emotional desire is far different from physical desire. Male 'normals' don't experience this dramatic shift until they become older (and that depends how their physical brain chemistry turns out). Female 'normals' are capable of this (just barely) because of their different make-up. The gifted (male and female) are capable of experiencing this from the time they're born until they die; how they deal with it is up to the individual.
    
      Shawn's love -- her deep burning desire for me -- was a mixture of the physical and the emotional. It reminded me much of Melanie, but tempered by the fact that Shawn was in the early stages of womanhood. She had an inkling of what she wanted whereas Melanie was simply pursuing me out of innocence and her ability to mimic adults.
    
      "Do it, Stanley," Shawn whispered. I snapped from my thoughts and saw her blue eyes peering deep into mine. She was studying me intently, one hand on my arm, the other on my cheek.
    
      "Do it like you mean it," she urged me, "Do it 'cause --"
    
      "I love you," I blurted absently and saw her eyes light up.
    
      I was high on physical and mental stimuli. Shawn made a little noise -- something only a woman could make -- and held me tenderly. Unable to help quell the surging euphoria I was cresting on, Shawn raised her head a little to kiss me. She held me close as I threw my hips violently at her, burying myself deep in her warm waiting cunt.
    
      "Oh fuck, uffuck, oh fuck," I groaned as I squeezed out every last drop of liquid into her body.
    
      Shawn was panting too, if only a little softer and shallower than I. I learned later she usually managed only quiet orgasms, not the super-wet ones Rachelle had, or the angry ones Janet experienced. I could feel her child chute milk and grip my cock as it shrank. By habit with Janet, I would always pull out immediately and toss the saran wrap but Shawn wouldn't let go when I tried to separate.
    
      "Don't leave!" Shawn held me fast.
    
      "I got to, pumpkin," I kissed her forehead, "Or the condom slips."
    
      "Let it," her hug tightened. "I don't care."
    
      "Au-contraire," I grabbed her and rolled her atop me. "I think you would if you grew a few dress sizes in four or five months."
    
      She gave surprised yelp but put up no resistance as I slipped out of her. I threw the mess into the trash and brought out a couple of steamy hot wash cloths. Shawn had turned over and was lying face down, her pussy wrinkled and gaping. She twitched as I put a cloth on her and began wiping her clean. I toweled off her whole backside then cleaned myself off. I threw the rags into the sink to let them soak and I headed back to the room.
    
      Shawn was still lying there, her legs askew, her hands clutching my pillow. I marveled at how her stubbornness could rival Melanie's. I decided to play with her some more. I kissed her rosy butt-cheeks then I gave each a gentle loving bite. She stirred and looked back at me. Her wet hair weighed heavily on her forehead, so I combed it back with my fingers. Her blue eyes regarded me with a mix of suspicion.
    
      "What're you doing?" she whispered, her throat dry.
    
      "I want to make some measurements," I put my head over her ass.
    
      I began to put a small bite on her ass cheek. It was soft enough not to break the skin, but hard enough to leave teeth-marks.
    
      "One," I kissed the love bite and moved on.
    
      "Two --" Shawn groaned but didn't object. "Three."
    
      And so I went from one side to the other. It took eight bites to measure the chunkiest bit of Shawn, four per side.
    
      "There," I patted her ass. "Four apiece. Now if you grow, I'll know."
    
      "You pervert," Shawn lay on her side and rubbed her ass cheeks. "Stop that!"
    
      "How do guys not notice that cute ass of yours?" I pulled her beside me and admired her freckled cheeks.
    
      Shawn's freckles were mildly dark and very tiny, but she had a gratuitous sprinkling of them across her whole body. While it may not have been the ideal one-shade perfection of supermodels, it gave her an approachable and down-to-earth beauty few could match.
    
      "I sit next to Ashley," Shawn rested her head on her arms and spoke candidly, "And she wears a skirt you can easily look under."
    
      "Here's a tip," I took on a sarky tone, "Stop sitting next to her."
    
      "As if," her eyes dipped. "She's still a friend you know."
    
      I waited to hear more, but nothing more would spoil that night. We talked about dinner as we dressed. She wasn't sure what her plans were when she appeared, so she didn't tell her parents. Shawn gave her mother a brief call, saying that she'd miss dinner but would be back before 8 p.m.
    
      "So what do you feel like?" I asked her as we stepped out.
    
      "I don't know," Shawn said absently. "I mean I could eat Chinese food."
    
      "You know in China," I quipped, "We just call it food."
    
      "Oh shut up," she punched me playfully.
    
      I flicked through her mind quickly. It was, as I surmised, something she said just because she didn't know what else to say. At that time, Shawn had eaten Chinese food once, and it was from a pretty lousy franchise/chain (kinda like Chinese McDonald's). In any case, the last thing I wanted to do was give her food poisoning from the local Chinese eateries.
    
      "Well if you want," I said, "But how about some Italian? I know there's this little place on Geary you might like."
    
      "You mean Gaspare's?" Shawn asked brightly.
    
      I gave her a sardonic grin. "So much for the surprise."
    
      "I don't mind," she laughed and took my arm. "I love their little pizzas."
    
      Gaspare's was several blocks away so we both took the bus. It was a family eatery I passed by on my way to the stationery store or the dentist. Shawn and I sat down to a romantic Friday night (or as near as romantic as high school kids could get). I was feeling so giddy, I had forgotten that I was short on money until the check came.
    
      "Something wrong?" Shawn slurped the last of her soda.
    
      I had to do something quick, or it could be a lousy night.
    
      "No, just trying to add," I gave her a disarming grin.
    
      She smiled back and played with the ice in her glass. With no credit card, I would've been in trouble if I were 'normal'. All I had in my wallet were a ten dollar bill and a one dollar bill. Bus fares in the city weren't extravagent back then; in any case, Shawn had her Municipal Transit Youth Pass and I had enough spare change to get back home.
    
      With a little psychic finagling, I was able to convince the waiter to mistake the one dollar bill as a ten. The bill came in under $20. I left the change as the tip.
    
      Shawn lived near Golden Gate Park, around Fulton and 20th. I escorted her all the way back, the two of us enjoying one another's company. It had gotten chilly then so I gave her my coat. We got off about three blocks from her house. As we neared her destination, she grew anxious.
    
      "Here," she shrugged off my coat. "Take it back."
    
      "Keep it," I said with bravado, "It's cold."
    
      "How am I going to explain where I got it?" she pushed it against me. "My parents think I was at Ashley's house."
    
      "So you borrowed one of her coats," I said. "One of her butt ugly ones."
    
      "Nonsense," her teeth began chattering immediately, "I don't want to get busted."
    
      "Keep the coat," I wrapped my jacket around her again. "Just give it back to me next month."
    
      "You mean Monday," Shawn caught onto my poor jest.
    
      "Exactly." I kissed her.
    
      "I know where you live," she said quietly. "I could just drop in again."
    
      "Only if I could do the same," I chuckled.
    
      "Don't you dare Stanley," she hissed. "My dad'll kill you if he found out --"
    
      "That you've been such a bad girl?" I squeezed her butt under the coat.
    
      "Good God," Shawn pounded her fist lightly on my chest. "Can't you stop that and be serious for second?"
    
      "Only for a second," I counted one-thousand-one and patted her ass.
    
      Shawn did eventually make it home right around eight. Predictably, she gave me back my coat on Monday. Shawn was thankfully discreet and coolly left it on the editing bay's chair so I could abscond with it after class. I later wrote a quick poem/thank you note, folded it into a paper crane and slipped it into her locker. We began passing notes back and forth, and I had a time just keeping up correspondence with Janet, Rachelle -- and now Shawn -- with some sort of frequency.
    
      Whoever said a man having more than one lady friend was lucky obviously never put the work and effort into maintaining them. Thankfully, Melanie wasn't as demanding and greatly relieved my stress when the others couldn't. Eventually, I did meet the Hortens during Shawn's last year of high school. I had to, since I was taking Shawn to her (two!) proms.
    
    ===============================================================================
      WINTER OF DISCONTENT
    ===============================================================================
    
      I eventually met the man known as Tseng. I sometimes wonder if it would've been better to have not, but I guess things turned out the way it did simply because of events that weren't under my control. Tseng caused the rift in my family and threatened to tear apart the people I loved (literally tear the people apart -- not the bonds between). However, without his influence, I believe that I would not have been alive today.
    
      It was early December; our school's Winter Ball was generally held on the first or second weekend of the month. It was to be the senior class' Christmas ball. A shame it had to end the way it did.
    
      As I promised Rachelle, I took her to the Winter Ball. Faraz and I were looking to having a good time with our girlfriends. Since a limousine was out of the question (an extreme extravagance), Faraz and I determined that he'd have to drive us in his car.
    
      We arrived at the hotel ballroom where the ball was held. There's not much else to say about that night: Ghandia giving Faraz a bare-back blowjob after Rachelle and I got dropped off would've been the gossip that crowned the evening, but as things turned out, it wasn't to be.
    
      Rachelle gave Heidi and Jon-Peter hugs as we met in the lobby. I settled for a simple handshake. Heidi's date was resplendent in a dark dress uniform. He was going to West Point next fall and was dressed for the part. He complemented Heidi quite well. Some (non-alcoholic) drinks, some light dancing, and a pretty good buffet. I took note of the pork and pointed it out to Faraz when he finally showed up.
    
      "So what the hell are you smiling at?" I asked him as he nearly skipped up to the buffet table.
    
      "Hello Stanley my friend," he beamed, "Ghandia is a wonderful girl. She gave me a 'party kiss'."
    
      "Oh is that what girls call it now?" I flipped through his mind and that's how I found out what Ghandia had done. "You two okay?"
    
      "Better than okay," Ghandia slid between us, grabbed a prawn and fed it to Faraz. She then busied herself with filling her plate, but I could sense the intimate closeness between them. Obviously, I was the third wheel here, so I grabbed some cider and took my leave.
    
      "I'll leave you guys alone." I grinned at Ghandia then winked at Faraz. He was smiling like a goofball and managed to wave once before he surrendered to Ghandia's charms. I made my way across the room and back to our table.
    
      "Hey you!" Rachelle flashed me a bright smile. "Have you seen my date?"
    
      She was wearing a white strapless dress that was pretty damn flimsy for a girl her height. Unlike Heidi's or Ghandia's dresses, Rachelle kept her dress to the bare minimum so her body would be accented. With just a mink stole to keep her warm, little was left to the imagination. The color of her skin contrasted with her dress, and it kept some guys staring through the night, much to the chagrin of their dates.
    
      "Sugar," I put down the ciders on our table. I had begun to return Rachelle's affectionate moniker ever since I caught it being used by William Powell in his Thin Man movies. She didn't mind, although sometimes she wondered if it was an unconscious reference to, "brown sugar" and I assured her it wasn't.
    
      "I don't know what kind of man would just up and leave a pretty woman sitting there," I remarked and looked at the dance floor. Rachelle took a small sip and smiled. I was duly hypnotized by the movement of the musculature in her neck as she swallowed her drink.
    
      "At the risk of getting beat up when your date comes back," I offered her my hand, "May I have this dance?"
    
      "Ah screw him," she said and secured her mink stole.
    
      I took the light-hearted banter I had with Shawn and applied it to Rachelle soon after Halloween. At first, Rachelle wasn't comfortable with it, but as I read further into her, I chose my words carefully. She cared only about certain subjects, and didn't care too much about things that Shawn and I enjoyed talking about.
    
      Nevertheless, Rachelle enjoyed the banter. It was attention lavished on her by a suitor she liked, and to this day, I know of no woman who doesn't enjoy that kind of positive attention. I'd never taken dance, so I simply slow-stepped with Rachelle. It was all casual and such when ...
    
      "AAAAAAAHHHHHHH !!!!"
    
      A piercing scream rang through the hall. Not even the music could drown out the wail of despair. I had my back turned to the hall's entrance, but I could see Rachelle's eyes grow wide as the commotion and panic grew.
    
      "Stanley don't."
    
      I felt Rachelle's hand gripping mine tightly. I heard her but didn't listen and let my hand slip from hers. I had started towards the entrance without thinking. There was no fire alarm, no sprinklers, and no emergency lights, so whatever it was, it wasn't the hotel in trouble. That meant something else.
    
      "Find Ghandia and Faraz and stay with them," I turned my head back towards her. "I'll go check it out."
    
      I slipped away from Rachelle before she could protest. I slid though the crowd, getting a quick sample of everyone's thoughts: 'Someone's been stabbed.' 'It was a guy.' 'Was it a robbery?' 'No, some kind of fight.' 'Were there weapons?' 'No gun, it was something sharp though.'
    
      I edged my way to the front of the crowd and saw Jamie from my journalism class kneeling on the floor, crying. She was cradling a guy about my age in her arms. The difference though, was my own shirt wasn't covered in blood, and I didn't have a steak knife sticking out of my chest.
    
      "Holy shit," I thought aloud. "What the hell happened?"
    
      "He's fled."
    
      I turned saw an older Chinese man next to me. Actually, he wasn't old, but he certainly was out of place at a dance with high school students. At the time, I'd say that he was around his late thirties with receding black hair and wrinkles around his eyes. He wore spectacles, and his demeanor immediately gave me the creeps. His face hardly registered emotion as he viewed the scene.
    
      That was the first time I saw Tseng. As more people crowded towards the front, he seemed to fade from view. Later, I understood that was one of his most devious tricks.
    
      Since I didn't know who he was at the time, I looked at the people milling about. Someone said loudly that they'd called 911. Still, the guy on the ground wasn't doing so well. With Jamie holding him at an angle, I couldn't imagine him lasting long, so I foolishly stepped in.
    
      "Jamie? Jamie!" I snapped my teary-eyed classmate back to her senses.
    
      She looked up at me, her mouth couldn't form words. She looked back down at her date and a strangled cry came from her throat.
    
      "Howard? Hang in there," she cradled him. "The ambulance is on its way."
    
      I took off my rented jacket and wrapped it into a small bundle.
    
      "Let him lie down," I put the make-shift pillow under Howard's head. Jamie was reluctant to let go, but ultimately did so.
    
      "Don't let him lie down," someone called out. "He'll bleed faster."
    
      I ignored it. Howard's wound was bad. The knife was in his left chest, near where the heart was. Although I wasn't a paramedic or a doctor, I felt his thoughts fading. And it wasn't becoming the soft hum Rachelle had displayed when I conked her out. It wasn't the mass of images from those kids I mind-slapped at the Class Clown.
    
      Howard's thoughts were slowly going silent. His brain was dying. I looked at Jamie who looked between Howard and me. One of her friends knelt beside her and held her tight. I knew Howard was dying, but I wasn't going to announce it to the world. Jamie would be crushed. Still, how often would you have wanted to do something for a person who was going out?
    
      I knew. And I wanted Jamie to feel at ease.
    
      "Take his hand," I motioned to her absently.
    
      She had let go and knelt beside the fallen like a woman in mourning. I knew it was dangerous and reckless, but whatever last thoughts Howard had, I would've thought someone should take charge of them for the rest of his or her life. Jamie gingerly took his hand and stroked it.
    
      Watching her do so made me shudder. Janet, Melanie, Rachelle, and Shawn had all done that (or something similar to that) with me after we'd make love (okay, maybe not Melanie, but you get the picture). Witnessing Jamie's and Howard's last moments together was something I'd never forget.
    
      I took Howard's hand as if I was concerned and concentrated. I saw the last instants of his life in my mind. A big Asian tough had accosted Jamie just moments before. The two were shouting, with Jamie refusing him any further attention. Howard saw this and stepped in, not knowing it would be the last thing he did.
    
      Jamie's ex-boyfriend pulled out a steak knife and went straight at Howard's chest. I could sense his final few thoughts: 'Fucking motherfucker ...' 'I told you he was bad news. Why didn't you listen to me?' 'Why did you still talk to him? He wouldn't have known then ...'
    
      His anger welled up at his attacker then as he collapsed, he wanted to tell Jamie that it was her fault. I blinked and decided it would be a bad idea to let Jamie know what her date thought so badly of her, but then again, I had practically volunteered to do this, so I formed his thoughts and leaked it. It was a weak mind-link, but it was enough so Jamie had an inkling of Howard's final thoughts without knocking her out.
    
      Later on, I heard from friends of her friends that she had felt Howard's death was her fault. Jamie never seemed to recover from the psychic guilt trip I put her on. Years afterward, I learned that she had a pretty downward spiral, taking odd jobs and the like -- but more on that later.
    
      "Hey buddy, we got this."
    
      I looked up and saw a paramedic and his partner. Finally, the ambulance had come. For Howard though, it was too late.
    
      "Whoa shit," the EMT asked. "You okay? You got some blood on you."
    
      I looked down and indeed, I had some of Howard's blood on my white shirt (I wouldn't get my security deposit back). It must've happened when I was moving Howard around and telling Jamie to take up his hand.
    
      "I'm okay," I brushed him off. "They catch the guy?"
    
      "I dunno, but there were some police outside," the paramedic said. "Saw them cuff a guy."
    
      I nodded mutely as they put Howard on a stretcher and wheel him out. He lingered for about a minute more and I felt his mind go blank. I learned later he was pronounced dead on arrival at the hospital.
    
      What a way to end a Sunday night, I thought. The party had gone on, although in much reduced boisterousness. I had my jacket back, but it was in a mess next to me and I had my sleeves rolled up. If I had been older, I would've looked like a guy who went through hell. I ran it all through my mind again. It seemed so senseless, for Howard to die.
    
      For the first time in my life, I needed an actual drink, but the Winter Ball was strictly non-alcoholic and supposedly chaperoned.
    
      Wait, I thought. Was that older guy earlier a chaperone? If he was, he was pretty lousy at it. I nursed my glass of juice and wondered if I could persuade the bartender to slip in a few shots of alcohol. I knew I could do it, but wondered if it would affect my precious mind. I needed to stay sharp. Just in case.
    
      "Stanley?!" I heard Rachelle call for me.
    
      I looked up and saw her, Faraz, and the rest of the gang gathering around.
    
      "Where'd you go?" Rachelle put her hand on mine.
    
      "Are you okay my friend?" Faraz pulled up a seat beside me, "You don't look so good playing doctor."
    
      "No, I don't," I echoed him numbly.
    
      While I felt no remorse about the two dickweeds at the pizzeria, I knew they wouldn't have had problems getting back up (much like Rachelle). But watching someone die in my presence was a mild wake-up call of sorts. Seeing Jamie's remorse was one thing, but unlike the rest of the party-goers, I had felt it -- and it wasn't a great feeling.
    
      As I grew older, my idealism faded and gave rise to misanthropy, insulating me from much of the negative emotion around me, but I had to deal with this right then.
    
      "That guy's just hurt," Faraz said in an effort to cheer me up, even though I knew better. "He should be okay at the hospital, right?"
    
      "Maybe we should go?" Ghandia suggested, "Call it a night?"
    
      "Well we just got here," Heidi sounded nonplussed. "Besides, it's really none of our business right?"
    
      "Jesus Heidi," Jon-Peter admonished her. "A guy just got stabbed."
    
      "Yes, that's evil," she stated, "But that's got nothing to do with us."
    
      "Jamie's in one of Stanley's classes," Rachelle snapped then looked to me for help. "Which one was it?"
    
      "Journalism," I put my hand atop hers. "Don't worry about it; this should be fine."
    
      "Actually, speak the devil," Jon-Peter looked past me. "Looks like the police want to talk to you."
    
      The group widened as two uniformed police officers stepped towards me. Only Rachelle remained by my side, her hands not moving a whit.
    
      "Hey you're the guy who was next to the victim right?" the cop asked. "You saw it happen?"
    
      "No," Rachelle stepped up. "He just helped out --"
    
      "Miss," the cop moderated his tone as best as he could without sounding condescending, "I'll have to question your friend alone."
    
      "I'll be okay sugar," I kissed her gently on the cheek. "Go with Ghandia and Faraz."
    
      I saw the cop's brow arch. Miscegenous couples were not common then as they are today.
    
      "And hold a seat for me at the table okay?" I called after them. "I'll be done soon."
    
      "Okay," the policeman started once my friends had departed. "What's your name?"
    
      "Stanley Chen," I replied.
    
      "What were you doing there with the victim?"
    
      "The guy was bleeding," I stated matter-of-factly. "I thought I could help."
    
      "Start at the beginning," the cop said.
    
      I told him I heard the scream when I was on the dance floor, then made my way to the hall entrance. I dropped any mention of Rachelle or they'd hassle her as well.
    
      "Did you see what happened?" the cop asked.
    
      "Nope. Nothing," I nursed my juice glass.
    
      "How about your ah --" he found it amusing to say, "Girlfriend? Did she see anything?"
    
      "I was going back to our table when I heard it," I lied and decided to ask some questions of my own.
    
      "How's she doing?" I asked, "The girl, Jamie I mean."
    
      "She a friend of yours?"
    
      "Classmate," I corrected.
    
      "She's pretty worked up," the cop said, "But this is pretty normal. Okay. If you say you saw nothing, then that's all there is to it. But if the case comes up, we might have to ask you to come in as a witness."
    
      "Because I saw Howard bleed?" I asked.
    
      "It's up to the lawyers really," the cop admitted and bid me farewell.
    
      I got up and wandered slowly back to the table. Rachelle was nowhere to be seen, but Faraz and Ghandia were there.
    
      "You okay?" Faraz ushered me to my seat.
    
      "Yeah," I looked around, "Where's Rachelle?"
    
      "She stepped out to the washroom," Ghandia said flatly, "Some night's this turned out to be."
    
      "Yeah," I stood and grabbed my dinner jacket.
    
      "Where're you going?" Ghandia and Faraz asked.
    
      "Restroom," I said curtly and started towards the lobby.
    
      There were still a few cops (including the one who interviewed me) in the lobby, but it seemed pretty wrapped up. I asked one of the bellhops where the restrooms were if I was a guest at the ballroom and he pointed me towards the rear of the hotel. I must've been a sight strolling down the hallway: sleeves rolled up, jacket slung over my shoulder, and dried blood on my white dress shirt.
    
      I caught up with Rachelle as she stepped in from a fire exit, one hand with a small bottle of perfume. Regardless of the scented airs she put on, I could smell the nicotine and tobacco around her. She stopped dead cold when she saw me.
    
      "Enjoying a light?" I passed her a wry grin.
    
      "You could say that," Rachelle adjusted her dress and put the cap back onto her bottle of perfume.
    
      "And here I thought you were such a health nut," I burst out laughing.
    
      "That's not funny," she sat down on a bench near the door. "We only do that when we're stressed."
    
      "Who's we?" I asked.
    
      "Ghandia and Heidi," Rachelle confessed. "That and exercise keeps us thin."
    
      "I'm sure," I sat beside her. "Sorry this dance turned out to be a big boondoggle."
    
      "Stop!" Rachelle put her hands over her ears. "Didn't you promise me not to use any more jargon that was popular back in World War II?"
    
      "Maybe I did," I scowled, "Or maybe all those cigarettes warped your memory."
    
      "Oh shut up," she scowled back. "Ghandia told me all about you and Faraz's smoke breaks."
    
      "Traitor!!" I howled comically and shook my fist at empty air. "C'mon sugar, back to the dance then. Faraz needs to learn how to keep secrets secret!"
    
      Rachelle gladly accepted and we marched back into Winter Ball. The rest of the night passed without incident. However, it was pretty late when we took off. Faraz offered to drop me off, but Rachelle and I had other plans. We took a cab to my place and quietly snuck into my room.
    
      Despite the excitement at the ball and the partying that went on, Rachelle wanted to experience a night with me. I was reluctant at first -- Janet had been the only girl who'd stay that long with me (and I was sure who'd dump me, but she was patient). Rachelle though, was adamant. She even left a change of clothes at my place on Friday and said she'd be back for it.
    
      Who was I to argue?
    
      It was tradition to skip school the next day (even though it was Monday); in any case, the teachers didn't raise a fuss unless the truant officers were involved. We soothed our tired bodies with a nice hot bath. We stood and rinsed the soap, dirt and grime from our bodies.
    
      My dick grew hard as I watched Rachelle dry herself. Her dark skin shone despite her having toweled off. She noticed and squatted before me in the restroom.
    
      "Oh sugar," she sang. "What's getting you so excited?"
    
      I chuckled and touched her gently. Rachelle laughed and kissed me lightly on the lips and cheeks. Her hand caressed my stiff dong. I sighed and held her close. My dark beauty led me towards the big bed. She lavished my cock with exquisite oral attention; her tongue tickled me under the cock-head. I felt my dick rub against the inside facing of her teeth, and I shuddered and threatened to come.
    
      Rachelle encased me with the condoms she preferred, then without much fuss, I buried my dick deep into her. We coupled like old lovers as we kissed and nibbled each other. I kissed her brow, her lips, her face, and whispered vile things in her waiting ear. She gladly returned the favor. I felt her fingernails digging deep into my back and as I slammed her with ever increasing ferocity. I shivered and came. Rachelle uttered her cry of pleasure as I shot my load into the waiting receptacle.
    
      When I had expended myself, she kissed my neck and face. The air was sweet with the scent and odor of our love-making, and we let it linger. Then like a married couple, we settled down for the night. Rachelle slept so I could spoon her. I reached under the covers to hold her close. Although my parents loved central heating, I usually closed the vents since feeding heat to the outer room where my study and bed were was a waste of energy. The room was insulated, but just enough to prevent severe frost. With Rachelle and I sleeping nude, we kept each other warm.
    
      The great part was morning. Rachelle had lied to her parents that she was staying at Heidi's place. Ghandia covered for Heidi, and Rachelle covered for Ghandia. That left Rachelle and me the luxury of waking up to the first of our shared mornings.
    
      Monday was blast. We showered, dressed, and we stepped out in the middle of the day. Rachelle lived just south of the city's Japan town but hadn't taken much interest in it (except the bowling alley). So, I took her there and we spent the rest of the day exploring Japan town. We browsed the books, pastries, movies, and the udon shops. Rachelle took pictures with her little camera. We really stopped and spent some time when we came across the kimono shop on the walkway over.
    
      "Oh Stanley look!" Rachelle was taken completely with the colorful robes.
    
      "Do you like it sugar?" I gazed at her with amusement. Of all the things that could catch her eye, she settled on an old fashioned kimono.
    
      "Wait, is this for daily wear?" she turned towards me.
    
      "Well I don't know about daily wear," I gave her a small grin, "Maybe for the Cherry Blossom or special occasions, like hanabi."
    
      "That is a kimono," the shop girl chimed in and corrected us. "For weddings only."
    
      "Oh, I see."
    
      Rachelle wrapped herself in one of the larger robes, batted her eyes at me and pouted her lips. I knew that look. That and I was reading her mind like a damn post-it note. She wanted it (and badly too!).
    
      "Really?" I asked. "But I haven't proposed yet."
    
      She nodded and laughed.
    
      "Well all right," I glanced at the price-tag and blanched, "But you'll have to wait two years while I make the monthly payments."
    
      "Pooh. You're no fun," Rachelle stood back and snapped a picture.
    
      I made a mental note to learn silk-making and sewing. It should be far more affordable to make one for her rather than buy one. When we had our fill of Japan town, Rachelle took me north of Fillmore. It was a place she was more familiar with. There, I was bombarded with small quaint shops selling handcrafted jewelry, scarf shops, and various eateries. As the day darkened, we ate at a little Greek place on the boulevard. Having a little more forewarning this time, I had packed the proper amount of money this time to avoid any embarrassment.
    
      After dinner, we hit the bowling alley for a little while. Ultimately, we ended one of the best weekends of our lives just walking hand-in-hand back to her residence. There were no worries, no problems, and no pressures. Rachelle and I had sent out the last of our applications a few weeks before; we were just waiting and enjoying our youth. This was one of the last few carefree moments I would remember.
    
    ===============================================================================
      JANET RETURNS
    ===============================================================================
    
      My senior year in high school was a mix of worry and wonder. Wonder came from Melanie, Rachelle and Shawn. Worry came from Janet, as she was soon to visit me. In the two years since I ejaculated in her 19 year old body, I had somehow been sexually involved with three more girls. How could I explain this to my doting First?
    
      So I waited with some dread and a small amount of anticipation as June neared. I was so wrapped up in Janet's return and my eventual development in college, I skipped graduation. It was only when Rachelle reminded me of our senior prom did I remember to take her (like the previous dance, Faraz did the driving). Nevertheless, her choice of college at UCLA put some distance between us. Not as much as Janet and I had, but for two poor students it was too much to ask. While it put a mild freeze on our relationship, I devoted time and energy to write her; this and my unyielding attention kept Rachelle from ditching me.
    
      Shawn was still in school, and I would continue to drop in on her during her remaining time in the city. Like Melanie, she'd come over occasionally and hang out, although once I moved from my old place, my house's proximity lacked the charm she knew when we first dated. Shawn eventually overcame her singular adoration of me (I attribute this to a 'normal's' mind maturing and developing some sort of resistance) but we relied on our shared experiences when we were older and more mature.
    
      Melanie was still the little conundrum. I didn't know why she was so into me, and she remained my trusted confidant, though she was barely able to grasp things mentally.  So it was Melanie who was in my room when I finally got the call I was dreading for months.
    
      "Hello Stanley?" Janet's voice sounded more nasal than she'd be over the phone.
    
      "Hey Janet," I fought to control the anxiety in my voice. "How're you?"
    
      "Good baby," she slurred a little. Was she drunk already? "I want to see you."
    
      "Are you back in the city already?" I asked.
    
      "Yeah. Finals let out and I caught the red-eye here the same day." A long pause, then, "I need to see you."
    
      "Me too." I swallowed hard and added, "There's someone who wants to see you."
    
      Though I couldn't read minds over electrical wires, the slow methodical breathing on the other end was as unnerving as if she had kept silent. A hundred things must've been swimming in Janet's mind, but my forward answer likely pushed her off balance.
    
      "Okay," her reply came back firm and measured. "Someone I know?"
    
      "Not yet," I replied. She had to be satisfied with that.
    
      "So, when can I see Janet?" Melanie asked when I hung up the phone.
    
      "Stop being so nosy Yu-Ching," I scolded her.
    
      Melanie looked at me and grinned. Her eyes betrayed her honest sincerity in meeting the woman I was in love with. Despite celebrating her eleventh birthday in January, my diminutive dark haired angel had already engaged in rapacious activities that would put most adult women to shame. Still, Melanie retained an eerie unshakeable loyalty to me and (at the time) I wondered how long it would last.
    
      "Are you taking me to meet Janet, Stanley?" she asked.
    
      "Who else?" I knelt down to look her in the eye. Melanie gave me a quick peck on the cheek then went back to her drawing.
    
      It was June. Janet and I made plans to meet in Chinatown, in one of the city's more accessible teahouses. It was a noisy, smoky affair (the city-wide smoking ban was not implemented until a few years later). Somehow, I was able to persuade my parents I would shop with them on Sunday, and I won a Saturday for myself.
    
      By now, most of my college letters had returned. While I was a good student, things were still not entirely in my favor. I had not interviewed with any school and I hadn't expressed any interest in any particular campus. Hence, the rejections started coming in. My parents expressed considerable disappointment as I struggled to find an institution of higher education.
    
      I finally decided to head to the local community college. The decision now hung over me like a pall. Despite Melanie's now constant presence, I now felt like a mental inferior. I wasn't the smart kid any more, nor was I highly ear-marked in the 'normal' world. I still hadn't realized how much I could've exploited my power. Back then, I wasn't sure how far I could push them.
    
      Worming my way through the teahouse with Melanie in tow, I worried less about what Janet would think of Melanie than how Janet would regard me now as an academic fay-lo*. [* Cantonese: fat failure; corruption of the English word failure and  a homonym of "fat dude"]
    
      Janet was waiting at a corner table near the kitchen. The doors constantly swung open and shut, giving patrons a nearly constant view of the kitchen where steamed dumplings and other Cantonese cuisine were prepared. Janet had cut her hair short. She had hinted that she had changed her style, having been in Chicago for some time, but I was a little startled by her new look. The shoulder length hair that she had in high school was gone. Now, she wore her hair short and smoothed over her scalp; it made her look a little more boyish than I cared for.
    
      In lieu of the dark pants and blouses of a school girl, the Janet who sat before me now wore a petite gray business suit. It made her appear smart and professional. Her frilly white shirt made me think of the Renaissance fairs I had seen on television. I eagerly clasped her hand and we kissed. Instantly, I felt the ire from Melanie. My youngest of darlings bored her gaze into the back of my head and then leveled it at Janet.
    
      I introduced Melanie to Janet and sat down to await the inevitable explosion. It didn't happen at the restaurant. Janet was happy outside, but I sensed her trepidation on the inside. We ordered various dim-sum from the cart-pushers; the special dishes came from the waiters when ordered. Meanwhile, Melanie chattered away with Janet. She addressed her as Janet jie-jie* [* Cantonese: Sister Janet] which bespoke of Chen's genteel upbringing.
    
      After lunch, we took a walk through the shops lining the multitude of streets of Chinatown. Melanie was polite, but sampled a great many things. Having dressed somewhat appropriately for lunch, I looked a little older than I was. In one shop, one of the shopkeeps confided that we were indeed a very young couple. Janet visibly went crimson with embarrassment and I simply demurred to the shopkeeper's mistake with a smile.
    
      Melanie and I came by bus, but Janet drove us home. Well more precisely, drove Melanie home. Janet was quite surprised how close we lived to one another. Having dropped off Melanie, Janet came to my place. Chen was miffed at first, but a silent glance from me and she entered her house after waving goodbye.
    
      My parents were away from the house with Andrew -- visiting family across the bay. Hence, it was a good time for Janet to visit. Janet draped her suit jacket over the kitchen chair, her pumps clacked loudly on the vinyl. She suddenly turned red-faced, having remembered that I always removed my shoes before entering the room. She slipped off her shoes and presented them to me.
    
      "You haven't changed," she remarked as I took them from her.
    
      "Not really," I placed her shoes neatly in a corner. "Is that a bad thing?"
    
      "That would depend," Janet stepped into my bedroom. She sniffed the air and her eyes narrowed. "How'd you meet Yu-Ching?"
    
      "At Andrew's school," I said. "Last year or so."
    
      I was amazed how fast time had gone by. Janet sat on the corner of my bed as she had so many times in the past. She surveyed the room, her carefully manicured head craning to and fro.
    
      "Is that so?" Janet regarded me with her soft brown eyes. "Tell me something Stanley -- have you been seeing someone?"
    
      I sat in my chair by the desk and faced her. It had been nearly five years since we sat like that, tutor and student. Despite her earlier remark, I had changed. We both had. Each time we met, a little bit of the other person disappeared or became something else. Despite the time and distance that separated us, I still harbored strong feelings for Janet. But how to explain Melanie? And Rachelle? And Shawn?
    
      I took a deep breath and started. It was probably the hardest thing I had to do for many years. The kicker was that I wasn't hostile to Janet. I loved her, but I loved others as well. My stomach knotted as I told her about Melanie and Rachelle. By the time I ended my sorry tale, I could sense Janet was inwardly a mess, although she didn't show it. I decided to leave out Shawn for now.
    
      "Well," Janet stood to leave. "It's been good to catch up. I'll be seeing you."
    
      "When?" I croaked.
    
      To that she simply shrugged. I caught her gingerly by the arm. "It's been a while."
    
      "And you've kept practice," she said flatly. "I'm not in the mood."
    
      Something in me rankled at her rejection and my tongue became rather caustic.
    
      "Then I guess you'll just have to lay there and like it," I wisecracked.
    
      It didn't help the situation. Janet slapped me, then lost it as she pummeled me. It wasn't the playful punching I was used to from Shawn, but full on savagery. I fell back a step and put my arms up. I didn't want to hit Janet but I could sense it was going to get nasty if I didn't stop her. I threw myself against her, tackling her onto the bed. In the midst of the struggle, I extended a finger to touch her cheek. This left an opening in my defences for Janet to rake my face with her lacquered nails.
    
      The sting was momentary, but Janet's look was what rooted in my memory as she felt the effect of my mind. Unlike the fight at the pizzeria, I didn't attack her with a hate-message. I wasn't in euphoria like that time I was with Rachelle. I fed her a simple message, one that would hopefully alleviate her anger --
    
      Love. A flash of old memories came up. Our times at the boardwalk. The cold nights when we kept ourselves warm. The constant sneaking about at night to keep our parents in the dark about our sexual activities. Her eyes glistened as I stared at her like a guy who had done the stupidest thing in his life.
    
      The stir-crazy loneliness she felt while in Chicago must've amplified the remorse I fed her (my hand was still in contact with her cheek) because Janet simply collapsed and started crying uncontrollably. She curled up and fought me feebly as I helped her get comfortable in bed. Janet lay on her side and sobbed. I decided to give her some space and quickly left the room.
    
      I examined myself in the bathroom mirror and saw her nails had ripped up some skin, leaving red angry scratches. I muttered and cursed softly. There would be no hiding that from anyone for a while. I washed away as much of the blood as possible and wandered back to my room. Janet was still on the bed, but she was eerily quiet. I didn't dare to disturb her, so I went around the other side of the bed and found her staring blankly at the opposite wall.
    
      "Janet?" I knelt on the carpet beside the bed.
    
      Her eyes flicked towards me with a glare of recognition. I took her hand, half expecting her to jerk away in a fit of anger. When she didn't, I felt a little more at ease.
    
      "Damn you," she finally said. "God damn you, Stanley Chen."
    
      I remained mute and concentrated on staying positive. I knew I could get her seeing the brighter side of things. My side of things.
    
      "How could you just --" Janet swallowed and then closed her eyes.
    
      "I'm sorry," I said matter-of-factly, "But I feel for Rachelle and Yu-Ching."
    
      "Do you love them?" Janet's voice held steady.
    
      "Yes," I didn't hesitate and squeezed her hand, "And you. You're my first -- how can I not?"
    
      "That's not how it goes," Janet sighed. "I'm sorry Stanley -- I'm not a Mormon or whatever. I can't do this."
    
      I felt dejected but not discarded -- she still had feelings for me -- if only I could seize on them! I could have it all. Janet swung her legs towards me and sat up, a little wobbly but otherwise okay. Still holding her hand, I put my other hand on her knee and looked at her.
    
      "Janet," I implored. "Please stay."
    
      She put her palm gently on my injured cheek. I could feel her emotions running the gamut of love, hate, envy, and rage. Without knocking her out, I was using my gifts to dampen the negative emotions in her while fanning the positive. Most women would've knocked me out and left, but Janet stayed.
    
      "Stanley," Janet sniffed. "I want to but --"
    
      "But what?" I interjected gently. "You've got to have friends, guys and gals. I'm not jealous of them because you won't allow me to."
    
      Despite our argument, she found the chance to find humor in it.
    
      "It's not the same," Janet fought the small smile that threatened her stern face. "I'm not sleeping around with them."
    
      "I'm talking about the time you spend with them," I said. "I want you to be with me."
    
      "You're just a jealous little boy," Janet snapped. "And that's a ridiculous comparison. I've been away all this time!"
    
      "Well," I stood up in a huff, "That's how I feel. I was lonely. Yu-Ching was friendly and Rachelle was --"
    
      "She's a little too friendly," Janet glared at me. "Never mind Rachelle, are you trying to go out with that innocent little girl?"
    
      "Like I said," I returned her glare, "Yu-Ching's friendly."
    
      "How friendly?"
    
      "We kissed once or twice," I lied but Janet knew better. "Nothing more."
    
      The young woman wasn't a mind-reader, but she was experienced. Plus we had been together the better of part of five years. Janet knew I was obscuring some of the truth.
    
      "God," she turned away in disgust. "You're an animal."
    
      "Hey," I knelt before her. "She came on to me. I already said I had a girlfriend."
    
      "Not in here you don't," Janet shook her head.
    
      I looked intently at her, "Is this what you want?"
    
      Despite her assured looks, Janet dipped her head. She wasn't sure! I felt it. I was inwardly elated, but I still knew it was too early to celebrate. I had to take back control.
    
      "Y'know Stanley," she started, "To you, I may be that first girl you shacked with, but --"
    
      "Janet," I sat on the bed beside her and put my arm around her.
    
      "Don't," she began to shrug me off but I held fast.
    
      "Then I won't," I said quietly but already my mind began to permeate hers.
    
      My proximity helped, and the familiarity of our surroundings gave me an advantage. I picked up bits and pieces of her: doubt, jealousy, envy, desire, and curiosity. I spoke absently about my true feelings for her while digging deeper into hers. Janet had Melanie in mind. Apparently, what I had said earlier had piqued her interest. She was now starting to wonder what I had done with the small girl.
    
      "I want you," I finished lamely, "Please stay. Wo-bai-tok-li*." [* Cantonese: I beg you please.]
    
      Janet turned away but lay down next to me, her body across the ends of the bed. I lay beside her and held her fast -- afraid she'd get up and leave. My fear intrinsically transferred to her and I felt Janet's warm hand encompass mine. It was the only answer I got that a 'normal' would be able to see; I felt Janet though, and her mind may have been a jumble of feelings, I knew she was willing to stick around. We didn't say much after that, but eventually it all worked out. It had to: she was my First.
    
    ===============================================================================
      SISTER JANET
    ===============================================================================
    
      "Stanley?"
    
      I stopped and caught my breath. Melanie was beside me on a bright sunny sidewalk in Parkside.
    
      "I'm okay," I soured knowing how out of shape I was, "Let's go."
    
      We were walking towards the Wu residence. It was a couple weeks since Janet returned and the blow-up that came with it. Melanie heard it from me second-hand, then (I guess) first-hand from Janet. One of the stipulations I had yielded to my lovely First was Melanie's telephone number.
    
      Melanie came to see me earlier in the week, and said excitedly that "big sister Janet" wanted to see us both that coming Saturday. In fact, right after lunch. I managed to excuse myself from family business and headed for the bus stop. To my surprise, Melanie was there waiting for me.
    
      "Were you here long?" I asked her.
    
      "Not long!"
    
      My littlest darling smiled as I drew near her. I noticed she had a small bag under her arm. I didn't ask her about it the entire ride over, but I gathered it was part of Janet's meddling. Speaking of Janet, I hadn't heard from her since she left my house weeks before. Now with this bizarre summons, I wondered what was going on. When we arrived, Janet greeted us, and bade us to come in.
    
      In my youth, I had gone to Janet's house just once or twice. She was satisfied visiting me at my place. Hence, I was not only surprised at the richness of the house's interior, but also its luminous nature. Her parents must've redecorated. The carpet was plush and the walls mostly white with dark trim and accents. I was chiefly surprised at how neat and spotless everything was (unlike my place). Janet set a tray of glasses, a water decanter and some lemon slices and Melanie helped herself to a cup. I was simply content to sit.
    
      "Just you at home?" I asked.
    
      "My parents are in Reno," Janet explained. "Gambling excursion."
    
      "I see."
    
      "So," Janet clapped her hands gently. "I guess I should announce the news."
    
      I felt my stomach knot up. I was trying to gauge Janet's mood, but I wasn't too successful.
    
      "First off," Janet turned and gave Little Chen a small smile, "Yu-Ching wants to be called 'Melanie' from now on."
    
      I glanced at Melanie and saw her beaming proudly.
    
      "Yu-Ching?" I said haltingly, "Do your parents know?"
    
      Yu-Ching -- no, Melanie -- nodded.
    
      "I asked my mom and dad," she replied, "And it's about time I got an American name; I'm starting sixth grade!"
    
      I looked back towards Janet and she eyed me steadily. I had an inkling what news came next would be about us.
    
      "Good. Secondly, I want to talk about you, Stanley."
    
      I was right. I felt inwardly sick but excited. It was that moment in time when every possibility could be, and you'd wonder about the answer that would come.
    
      "I've decided I'll stick around," Janet's words hung in the air as she studied my panic, "So, you can breathe easy."
    
      "Thank you," was all I could manage.
    
      "But," Janet became pensive, "Only because Melanie asked me to."
    
      "Yu-Ching?" I shifted my gaze to Melanie.
    
      The little girl shuffled to Janet's side and hugged her, "dwoujie-jie-jie*." [* Cantonese: Thank you sister.]
    
      I didn't say a thing. I was simply confounded. These two had worked something out without me knowing about it. It was one of the few times I had felt powerless despite my gift of persuasion.
    
      I hadn't ventured to say anything so far, but Janet and Melanie had embraced for some time. I didn't blanche when Melanie gave Janet a quick peck on the cheek, but when Janet lifted my little darling's head with her delicate fingers and did a lesbian lip-lock, I practically fell out of my seat.
    
      I was half sitting, half squatting on the floor while two of the most important women -- no, make that girls -- were engaged in what could be described as homosexual make-out session. After what seemed to me to have been a long while, Melanie pushed herself away, shaking her head.
    
      "I'm sorry Janet jie-jie," she wiped her mouth on her sleeve, "I don't feel anything."
    
      "Nothing special huh?" Janet grabbed a napkin from the tray and wiped her mouth, then motioned for Melanie to come close so she could be cleaned up as well.
    
      "I bet Stanley enjoyed the show though." Janet again became her smug, self-assured self again.
    
      "What just happened?" I asked stupidly from my spot.
    
      "Janet jie-jie called me," Melanie said brightly. "And we talked. A lot. About you Stanley."
    
      "Yeah," I got back into my seat. "I bet you did."
    
      "Melanie," my darling's name rung crisply from Janet's lips, "Was curious. For shame Stanley."
    
      I felt my body grow hot. Melanie had told --?
    
      I saw Janet eyeing me mischievously, and I sensed my First now knew of Melanie's quest of watching us fuck. Apparently, Janet and Melanie stepped out to a cafe and had a long conversation about me.
    
      Melanie's parents would not have approved of the meddling I'd done in their eldest daughter's choice of partner. From Melanie, Janet had gotten the rest of the story out about Rachelle, Shawn, and her; to Melanie's credit though, she also pleaded my case. My two lovelies went on to explain that they got to discussing how to best work out the situation, hence why we were here at Janet's place today.
    
      "So there you have it," Janet glanced at me sternly. "That's what happened."
    
      "I see," I said quietly, wondering what would happen next.
    
      "God, Stanley," Janet scoffed, "I'd think you'd be a little more excited about this."
    
      "I am," I gave the biggest grin I could muster, "I'm just -- surprised, that's all."
    
      Now, all I had to do was break the news to Rachelle and Shawn.
    
      "See jie-jie?" Melanie continued using the Cantonese honorific, "I told you he'd be happy."
    
      Janet gave us both a thin smile as she stood up. She beckoned us deeper into the house. In the bowels of the house was a hot tub and spa. A shower and toilet were in the same room.
    
      "My parents built this when they knew I was going to Chicago," Janet said. "Empty nest and all that, y'know?"
    
      "Ah, I see," I fidgeted uncomfortably. "I didn't know we were soaking in the sauna today."
    
      "So?" Janet flicked on the fan and began filling the tub with water.
    
      "I didn't bring my swim trunks," I said flatly.
    
      "Oh yeah?" Janet said casually and slipped off her top. "Neither did I."
    
      I let out a low hiss as she stripped herself nude and hopped into the shower to clean up. Melanie had already undressed and stood next to the shower.
    
      "C'mon Stanley," she motioned. "We need to shower beforehand."
    
      "You think you're so smart now," I reached menacingly towards Melanie. The girl squealed and tore away from me at high speed.
    
      "NO RUNNING!" Janet hollered over the shower spray.
    
      She popped her head out, wiped her face with one hand and gave me a disapproving look.
    
      "Get in here before you crack your heads open," she said gruffly, "God. Can you imagine? A girl her age showering with a boy your age along with a twenty-something me?"
    
      "I'd get in trouble --" Janet and I spoke almost in unison.
    
      We stopped, our eyes met, and we shared the first smile for what seemed to be a long time. So we were friendly again, I knew. Then I went and wrecked the moment.
    
      "Whoa wait." I looked at her. "You mean in there? Together?"
    
      "Not together, but get clean," Janet's cheeks dimpled. "Otherwise we'll muck up the spa."
    
      She opened the frosted shower door a little wider. Melanie and I saw my First's lovely smooth body, slick with lather and water. It was enough to persuade me. I shucked off my clothes, being careful to fold them into a neat pile.
    
      Janet stepped past me as I went into the shower. I felt her nails scrape lightly against my midsection and my fingertips grazed her hips. It was like old times. Meanwhile, Melanie had recovered and quickly slipped in before I could close the door.
    
      "Hey, wait your turn," I growled.
    
      Melanie only shivered and hugged herself to keep warm. I could hear her teeth chattering, so I let her stand in the spray. Melanie's shakes died out as she quickly rubbed herself down. She barely got the tail end of her hair wet, then she quickly hopped out again.
    
      "That was quick," I called to her as she sped to the warm spa.
    
      "I showered before I came out," Melanie sang back and slipped under the frothing water.
    
      "Hmph," I turned my attention back to the shower and lathered up.
    
      It was weird, I thought. I was in the presence of two beautiful nude girls, and I was barely aroused. I looked down at my body as I rinsed and felt a little ashamed I wasn't able to offer much more. Was it my extra-sensory gifts that attracted these women? Or was it something else? Something that a 'normal' would have?
    
      Presently, I felt a slight chill. Despite the warm spray of the shower, I was feeling a little chilly. I had been in the shower so long my body had acclimated to the temperature. I turned off the shower and stepped out. I could hear Janet and Melanie chattering in Cantonese. Their words flowed so quickly, I could only catch bits and pieces -- this and my rather rudimentary grasp of the language limited my eavesdropping. However, I did get the feeling from both that they were discussing me again.
    
      Janet and Melanie looked up as I settled into the Wu family spa. The water was frothy and a small jet of water was tickling the small of my back.
    
      "So, here we are," I said matter-of-factly.
    
      "Here we are," Janet said, then her hand came up so she could snap her fingers. "Damn. Forgot the water glasses."
    
      "Ah leave it," I said, "I'm not thirsty -- are you?"
    
      "I'm not thirsty," Melanie clung to the spa's rim and flipped twice; her body was small enough for her to do so.
    
      "You will be after a bit," Janet sounded stern, but she settled down, "I guess it can come later."
    
      The three of us settled into the water, and we got to talking. School again dominated the discussion (keep in mind, the three of us were all Asian) although Melanie and Janet did manage to chat about some rock bands.
    
      "Yeah Stanley," Melanie turned towards me. "What do you listen to? I've never heard you play any of your music."
    
      "That's because he doesn't have any," Janet jumped in before I could answer.
    
      "I can't play any when you guys hog the boombox," I shot Janet a sour look.
    
      Janet laughed and splashed me playfully. Melanie grinned and emulated her jie-jie. I rose and trudged my way through the water to sit next to Janet. My First quickly dipped her eyes and tried to act casual. I knew it was still a little weird for her -- Melanie had been accustomed to slotting her time between Rachelle and Shawn but Janet was still very self-conscious.
    
      "Jie-jie-ngho-nghoysum*," Melanie half paddled, half trudged and sat next to her. [* Cantonese: Don't be unhappy / bashful / ashamed.]
    
      Janet sat sandwiched between us, and she was trying her best to be comfortable. Melanie had taken Janet's hand under the water, and I could sense she was trying to soothe the older girl in her own way. I sat on the spa's built-in bench, with a hand on Janet's bare shoulder. Janet smiled at me, then turned her head back to Melanie, who smiled back.
    
      Then something wicked came to me. What was it that Melanie had pestered me so much about when I still called her Chen? Good God, I swore mentally. That would be over three years ago.
    
      "Yu --" I stopped and corrected myself as the girls glanced back my way, "Melanie? Remember what you asked about a long time ago?"
    
      "About what?" Chen Yu-Ching seemed a little miff about me cutting into her moment with Janet.
    
      "Janet and me," I stroked the older girl's shoulder, "You know. 'Doing it?'"
    
      "Oh," Melanie broke into a small smile. "I forgot about that."
    
      "Wait," Janet's eyes glinted with mischief as she stared at her. "You want to watch Stanley and me? I mean --?"
    
      "I am curious jie-jie," Melanie dipped her head. "Can you show me?"
    
      "Interesting," Janet turned towards me and rose. "Well Stanley? Shall we?"
    
      I rose as Janet turned off the spa's jets. Melanie splashed in the spa a little longer before she pulled the drain plug. We dried ourselves then headed into Janet's bedroom. Like the rest of the house, it was luminously bright. The blanket on Janet's bed were unmade and disturbed, and an overnight bag sat in the corner of the room. The room was otherwise clean and uncluttered save for a small dresser and a nightstand. Janet ushered Melanie to a cushy seat at the side of the bed, then approached me.
    
      "Ready?" Janet whispered.
    
      I nodded. I was nervous about the whole thing. While I had no problem having intercourse with either girl (oral with Melanie, coitus with Janet), I did have reservations with having intercourse with one while the other watched.
    
      Hell -- of all the things to make a guy nervous!
    
      Janet sensed my apprehension and rested one hand on my shoulder to calm me. She put her palm gently against my cheek and I looked at her like I was just a stupid kid. My First's eyes glistened as I recalled the good times we had together. Some of my thoughts must've filtered back to her; we were in such close physical contact it was impossible not to.
    
      Watching us rekindle our love, Melanie sank back in her comfy chair and sighed. I coiled my arms around Janet's waist and pulled her close. We kissed for what seemed to be the first time in a long time. I felt her tongue dart over my lips, playing with them and asking me to let her in.
    
      I did and felt Janet lick my gums and teeth. I guided her to the bed and as Janet lay down, she pulled me down with her, head first. I fell atop her with a groan and felt my dick start to stiffen. Melanie's presence had fallen to the wayside as I re-discovered the joys Janet had to give.
    
      Despite her boyish haircut, Janet was still the excitable vixen I knew in my youth. She reached down, caressed my manhood and I felt my ears burn, my head dizzy. I was ready. I shifted to get into position, then Janet gently pushed me to the side.
    
      "You're ready baby," Janet's voice was raspy; she looked at Melanie. "Come here. Lie down."
    
      "Me?" Melanie breathed.
    
      "Her?" I felt a chill and my cock began to soften.
    
      "Come on," Janet pulled Melanie towards the bed.
    
      My First pulled the young girl so she would lie beside her. From the nightstand, Janet took a tube of lubricant and squirted a thick helping onto her fingers. She dabbed a bit onto Melanie's tiny slit, then began slowly working her digits into the girl's baby smooth cunt. Melanie groaned at the intrusion. Her face was one of mild discomfort, but she began to relax as Janet worked on her.
    
      "It's a special lube," Janet said casually. "Warms to the touch."
    
      I watched with fascination as Melanie's once tight slit began to crack open. Truly, my tutor had the magic touch. Janet was so close to Melanie as if she was spooning the other girl. Melanie's hands were not idle either. With one hand, she was rolling one of her nipples (Janet fiddled with the other) and her other hand was on Janet's thigh.
    
      "C'mon baby, she's ready now," Janet's fingers slipped from Melanie's snatch, her index and middle fingers wet with lubricant.
    
      "No saran wrap?" I asked with a wry smile.
    
      "Melanie hasn't had her period yet," Janet lifted her young charge's head, "Right?"
    
      "No jie-jie," Melanie replied faithfully.
    
      Both women looked to me. My youngest darling spread her legs as wide as her eyes. Finally, she was going to get what she wanted, first-hand. As I climbed on top of her, Melanie instinctively reached out, mimicking Janet's earlier performance. Janet in the meantime, came up behind me and helped me with my dick.
    
      "Tab A into slot B," Janet's breath nicked my ear.
    
      I could feel her wet warm fingers tickling my balls. She held my shaft and squeezed it 'tween two strong fingers. I felt her rub my tip a few times -- the pre-cum -- and work the lubricant over my cock-head. Janet pushed down on my ass and I lowered myself on Melanie. I saw Melanie's mouth make a big "O", and heard her suck in her breath as I buried my teenage cock into her preteen puss.
    
      I let out a satisfied groan and looked down. My body cast a large shadow over her, but in the bright room, I could see I was more or less in her. Only an inch or so remained. I began to push myself when I felt Janet tug my ear.
    
      "Not so fast," my First scolded gently and turned to Melanie. "Are you okay?"
    
      Melanie's breathing was sedate but the excitement I felt from being this close to her was undeniable. I knew she wanted me to hilt myself, but what we wanted was much different than what we could do.
    
      "wo-mo-xie*," she murmured. [* Cantonese: I'm all right / undisturbed]
    
      "Okay Stanley," Janet slipped back to Melanie's side. "Slowly now, or you'll hurt her. If she says stop, for God's sake, STOP. I'll be right here, okay?"
    
      "Okay," I hadn't the foggiest notion of how I could hurt Melanie.
    
      Janet was always in control of her body when we made love, so it hadn't occurred to me that an average (physically, not mentally) guy like myself could make a young girl bleed to death by roughly fucking her.
    
      I moved my hips and I saw Melanie wince and shut her eyes. Janet held her by one hand, and gave her a comforting squeeze. I sensed that she was in mild pain, and stopped. It took a lot out of me to just stay in that position but I did it, fearing what could happen.
    
      "It's okay," Janet stroked Melanie's flat little breasts. "Here, gimme some room Stanley."
    
      I arched back as far as I could so Janet could come between us. Melanie gasped as Janet began flicking the girl's nipples. I heard my little darling moan softly. Melanie ran her hands through Janet's styled hair and made it a neat mess before my First drew back.
    
      "Better?" Janet brushed her hair back.
    
      Melanie nodded then said, "Can you do that to me Stanley?"
    
      "Yeah," Janet gave me a playful poke, "Do some work here."
    
      "I'll try," I mumbled.
    
      It was hard, but I fell over Melanie once more and kissed her lewd little mouth. Considering all the times the little girl had sucked me off, it was a nice change of pace to actually kiss her properly. My hips were thrusting at a regular rhythm now. With me occupying Melanie's mouth, she couldn't have cried, 'Stop!' or much of anything else. However, I could feel her thoughts as more of our skin shared contact.
    
      Despite our proximity, I couldn't get a clear line of thought from Melanie. I wondered if she was either like me, or somehow immune. Now that was a frightening thought.
    
      Melanie opened her eyes and gave me a peculiar look. Her mouth opened to let me in. Now I fucked her mouth with my tongue as I porked her cute cunt with my swollen dick. Her legs were unlike Janet's -- Melanie was still this spindly little thing. My hands easily encompassed her ankles when I held her legs when we fooled around and I didn't find her all that sexy until she began sucking my cock.
    
      Nevertheless, feeling her moist warmth around my shaft was more than I could take. I began thrusting her so forcefully that Janet took immediate notice; however, she sat on her haunches and said nothing. Melanie wasn't uttering anything save sweet exultation and she had relinquished Janet's hold so she could clasp me closer.
    
      I felt my balls begin to ache and my vision narrow. I avoided kissing her for fear I'd knock her teeth out with my stronger pummeling. I buried my head in the nape of her neck, completely filled with Melanie's sultry scent and Janet's mix of powders and perfume from the pillow.
    
      In spite of the absence of a flow of thoughts from Melanie, having that tight young body under me was enough. With one final, powerful lurch, I threw myself so hard against Melanie I thought I'd crush her for sure. I propped myself up, hoping I hadn't crushed my little darling, and shot off. Melanie was quiet till now but she squealed mightily as dick vomit splashed inside her. With each new spasm I had, she gasped, clutched my arms and pawed my chest.
    
      At last, I had finished and I meant FINISHED.
    
      It might've been the weeks of angst and worry over Janet, or Melanie's freshness, or simply a mix of other factors, but I had expended a lot of energy. I pulled out and Janet was quickly on me.
    
      "Here," Janet handed us some damp towels.
    
      I hadn't even noticed Janet had left the bed to get ready for the aftermath, but that was how considerate my First was. I lay back a warm towel on my crotch, a smile on my face as I watched Melanie rub her cunt a few times. Janet took her to the bathroom and I heard her telling her how to douche.
    
      "Well aren't you the lucky guy?"
    
      I opened one eye and saw Janet slinking towards me. I was about to move to one side of her bed when she hopped on top and pinned me to her bed.
    
      "So studly," she brought my hand to her breasts. "Got any juice left for mama?"
    
      "Kinky," I pulled her down, "But you're no momma yet."
    
      "Do you want to?" Janet batted her eyes and bit her lip sheepishly.
    
      "li-xieng-xshie*," I bit her gently on the nose [* Cantonese: literally, Do you want to die? figuratively, street slang equivalent to 'Yeah right' or 'You wouldn't dare']
    
      Janet chuckled and pulled a condom from her nightstand.
    
      "Hey wait," Melanie came running through the door. "Don't start without me!"
    
      So that's how the first time went. Eventually, it was more convenient (and polite) for me to spend private time with my darlings alone. From a "normal's" point of view, I suppose it would be like eschewing some great opportunity, but romantic intercourse is much like a gourmet meal -- partake too much and you'd do yourself more harm than good.
    
      Besides, of those four -- Janet, Melanie, Rachelle, and Shawn -- I could definitely say that none of them were bisexual. The same could not be said though, of my next conquest.
    
    ===============================================================================
      INTERLUDE -- DESERT, PLAINS, AND A DAY WITH RACHELLE
    ===============================================================================
    
      In my dedication of this memory to how I met each of my darlings, I had neglected to tell you more of my immediate family. You may have already guessed that I have a mother and father, just like any other 'normal' in the world. How it was that I was gifted and my younger brother Andrew was not is still one of those mysteries. Unlike what is regularly portrayed in comic books and science fiction, blood relationships do not necessarily mean a stronger prevelance of extraordinary "gifts".
    
      In any case, Andrew was pretty much a quiet fellow and kept mostly to himself. This sense of quiet reserve could easily be mistaken for docility, but he possessed one of the most violent tempers if he was provoked. Hence, I generally stayed on his good side. Not that we had many arguments, but sometimes he would chafe under my authority as his older brother.
    
      Despite all our similarities and differences, we were both under the authority of our even sterner father. Every year since Andrew was 4 (and I about 11), our parents would take a week or two in our summer vacations and bring us to see the sights and sounds of America.
    
      The first couple of years, we traveled to Reno for the family-oriented Circus-Circus casino and resort. Once Andrew was older and could hike, our family visited some of the national parks in California. In the last few years of my high school, we visited various cities my parents had lived in before they settled down on the West Coast (chiefly the Midwest).
    
      We stopped along several spots where I dared practice my gift in plain sight.
    
      As I mentioned before, I had the ability to dull or excite a person's mind. If I am in physical contact, then I can do much more damage. I kept in practice and prevented my mind-skills from falling from memory. The more I did it, the more adroit I was at manipulation. Since we didn't spend any more than an hour or two at any one location on the side of the road, it was rather difficult to do much; however, that insured that I wasn't around when things got weird.
    
      Would you like to hear of some highlights?
    
      Somewhere in Nevada, a saleswoman who worked at a fireworks outlet (or factory) and I groped and kissed for a minute or so when we went briefly in the back to grab some fireworks my father requested (and later bought).
    
      In Temple's Square at Salt Lake City, Utah, I mentally brought a girl my age to an orgasm simply by shaking her hand. When she collapsed, her body completely shivering, I convinced bystanders it was heatstroke and prudently left.
    
      For a short while when I was driving, I found myself driving ahead, adjacent to, and (sometimes) in the back of a young couple in a small coupe. By luck, both our cars stopped at the same gas station. After I used the restroom, I was overseeing the rest of the refueling. The woman and I were alone at the pumps for a brief period and I was able to persuade her -- at range (without physical contact) -- to lift her t-shirt, to scratch an imagined annoyance. I was more impressed with my skill than the brief flash of titty.
    
      Coming back, on the Utah/Colorado border, I met a Native-American girl who was slightly older than Melanie and Andrew. She was running a roadside souvenir stand all by herself near the hotel we were staying that night. Seeing her against the fading desert sun, I missed Melanie's tender presence. While I wanted to do more, I couldn't under the circumstances.
    
      That last encounter left me rather frustrated, as I often had the company of Melanie, Rachelle, Shawn, and (sometimes) Janet for the past couple years. I was beginning to chafe at the lack of sexual activity, and I was getting more agitated. The final leg of my last trip with my parents before college was in Las Vegas.
    
      Having put up with me and my brother this long, my parents decided it was time for some relaxation and booked two rooms (one for the kids -- i.e., Stanley and Andrew -- and one for mom and dad). This meant I was again left to my own devices -- kinda. As I was not yet 21, I had to take care to avoid the casinos and alcohol-present establishments. This meant Andrew's care was on my shoulders.
    
      Unlike Reno, the family-friendly establishments in Vegas were rather limited in the early 1990s -- the Luxor, Caeser's Palace, and a few more theme hotels were just finished a few years earlier but the extensive remodeling by venture capital and entrepreneurs hadn't yet reached critical mass.
    
      Still, I couldn't be trusted to drive the family's rented vehicle without my father or mother around. That meant Andrew and I were fairly limited to browsing stores on the Strip and meeting my parents back at a predetermined hotel or restaurant at a specific time (or earlier) or risk getting stranded.
    
      Fun. If you're waiting for me to describe some altercation or risky encounter with a Vegas showgirl, dancer, or prostitute, you can move on. With my kid brother under my wing, the most exciting thing I did was to buy a Zippo butane lighter from a smoke shop, along with some flints and some lighter fluid. Considering I didn't even persuade the shop keeper to lower the price, I'd say I pretty had as much fun as I could have. Ah, but for the fear of discovery!
    
      Actually a few weeks before my family trip (but right after Janet's visit) I had the pleasure of taking Rachelle to a theme park in Santa Clara. Well, it was more like our trip to the boardwalk last year, except this time we had no chaperones. Faraz managed to borrow the family mini-van and the whole school gang made it a point to chip in. The vehicle was roomy enough for seven: me, Rachelle, Faraz, Ghandia, Faraz's sister Ami (short for Ameena), my brother Andrew, and Rachelle's two younger twin sisters Letitia and Tanya.
    
      Jon-Peter and Heidi opted to drive themselves up (in their defence, their families were a little better off) but they also carried several trays of fruit juice and snacks for the kids. As it turned out, it would've been better for me to have sat in their car and had my place in the van occupied by the snacks and juice boxes.
    
      Andrew and I were used to long period of inactivity from our annual family trips to the desert and Midwest with our family, but Rachelle's and Faraz's sisters were not. We had to stop three times during a short drive to the park so they could get out and stretch.
    
      We found Jon-Peter and Heidi waiting patiently by their car once we got into the park's parking lot; Heidi paged her location to Faraz and we all drove up apologetic.
    
      "Oh children," Heidi sighed.
    
      I was mildly surprised. She was handling our tardiness more politely than her normal self. As Rachelle and I began passing out drinks to our young charges, Faraz rolled his eyes. He was about to say something when Jon-Peter quickly motioned for him to stay quiet. Both Faraz and I cocked our brows. Something was up. Rachelle later told me that Jon-Peter had proposed to Heidi, and they were planning to get engaged in a year or two.
    
      The rest of the day was fun. The three girls ran amok with Faraz, Rachelle, and Heidi taking turns playing chaperone (this was so the other couples could have their quiet time). Andrew was quite content to follow me and Rachelle around. He even showed Rachelle the subtle nuances of different arcade machines (a passion of his). I was glad my brother got along well with her; to this day, Andrew is closer to Rachelle than the others.
    
      We all met for dinner at one of the restaurants in the middle of the park. At the end of the night, most of us were tired enough that we contemplated snoozing on the side of the road, but Jon and Faraz both managed to tough it out and bring us home.
    
      A few days after I came back from my family trip, I saw Rachelle off to her new university in Los Angeles. By now, I had earned a provisional license. That and all the times driving in the desert gave me just enough confidence to get to the airport, shuck out $5 for parking and see my dark lovely off at the gate.
    
    ===============================================================================
      RED NOVEMBER
    ===============================================================================
    
      It was now the fall semester again, nearly three months since I deflowered Melanie. Less than a month ago, I celebrated my 18th birthday, which meant I had to keep Melanie's hooks out of me (and me out of her) until the new millennium to avoid going to a State pound-me-in-the-ass Prison.
    
      Janet had gone back to Chicago to finish her senior business degree. Her plan was to come back to the area and keep me company after that. She was setting her sights on Stanford or the University of California to finish then pass the state's Bar exam. Apart from that, my First again would be at arm's length again.
    
      Rachelle was in a new school in Los Angeles (she stayed with Ghandia to defray the rent). We kept our correspondence close but reserved -- I didn't want to spring a surprise (not yet anyway) and her promises of coming back for visits brought to fore Janet's predicament. My arrangement with Shawn was still secret; I wondered how strong of a hold I'd have on Rachelle if and when the shit hit the fan.
    
      Yu-Ching's parents had Anglicized her name (with Janet's influence), and she was now officially "Melanie" and starting at the middle school I had attended some years ago.
    
      Shawn was still in the same high school, but a junior. I knew it would be bad if Shawn decided to tattle on me, as I was now an adult, but we'd occasionally hit it off (though not often). I would find time every week to devote to one of my four darlings, my brother and family, and then myself.
    
      I was back in school but at a community college and desperately trying to transfer elsewhere. With such a hectic schedule, that didn't leave me with much time to explore my own horizons. When it came to school work or practicing the cheap mind-tricks I had developed, I was often crude and to the point (with the telepathy, not the school work).
    
      Nevertheless, I did manage to pull out a book or two from the college library about ESP and the sixth sense. Using a series of old "guess what this card is" tests, I finally suspected Melanie of being a latent empath, or really good at guessing games. I even persuaded Shawn to give Melanie the same test, saying it was for my school work.
    
      "I thought you were into architecture," Shawn countered.
    
      "I'm shooting for other pursuits."
    
      "Just like with Janet huh?" she teased. I gave her a dirty look but Shawn had already started administering the test. From these homemade tests, I noticed Melanie's powers seemed to manifest only when I was with her. She fed off my desires, and I'd be the catalyst for her selfish little id.
    
      For all that poking around, I had to suffer through a lengthy mall trip, holding Melanie's bags and accompanying her into a wide variety of shops. I also dedicated a night to Shawn, taking her out to the Equinox at the Embarcadero. Whoever said a man dating multiple women was lucky obviously didn't know how much MONEY it required.
    
      In spite of the short-term cost, I eventually noticed that most 'normals' were more at ease -- and psychically susceptible -- when both Melanie and I were in their proximity. I surmised this may have been what happened when Melanie agreed to meet Janet.
    
      Did Melanie know what she was? That was the question to which I had no concrete answer (not yet anyway). I couldn't read her like the others; it was like she was mentally invisible. The one time I asked her if she could read my mind was years ago when she was just a precocious little child. It was a question that dogged me right up to the point I met my most raucous darling, Viktoriya.
    
      At the time, I hadn't made my final decision on my major yet, but I was still doing some private research on psychology and ESP. My architectural studies meant I spent more time in design studio and not a library, but it was still time.
    
      CAD (computer aided drawing) was still in its infancy, and only rendered raster images. Vector graphics and the realistic walls, floors, and skies you see in modern MMO-RPG games were nearly non-existent then. A housing project with simple monochrome walls, roofs, and floors took a roomful of Pentiums six days to render, as opposed to the six seconds on a single GigaHertz computer (and I am sure in due time, those of you who read this will doubtless laugh as your personal computing devices will multi-task in cyclical measurements far further than a few TetraHertz).
    
      Nonetheless, that was how things were. Hand drafting construction documents is possibly one of the dullest, if not tedious tasks one could imagine, although the end result is sometimes pretty impressive. It certainly impressed not only my parents but several others as well. It was something that I had to learn in order to keep up appearances in the 'normal' world.
    
      I had finished yet another round of ESP/telepathy books and I had returned to the small campus library. This was when the stacks were still at Science Hall (before everything was moved to the newer building between Batmale and the student union). I delved into a few more books, but I was pretty much running out of material. Since new information was so scant by now, I simply pulled the books I wanted off the shelf and made photocopies.
    
      A few hours later, I had taken what interested me. In the fall and winter, the sun set pretty early. By the time it was around 6 o'clock, the sun was already a dark red orange on the horizon. The librarian, an old fat bat by the name of McCullen, started clearing the place of stragglers. Community colleges had night courses on campus, but their libraries (and even student union) closed rather early.
    
      Having nothing else to do but put back some books, I took the ones I didn't need and headed back to the shelf where I found them. One of the student librarians was a shapely, voluptuous Slavic girl with dark eyes and hair, milky white skin, and a beguiling innocence that masked her feral carnality. I had first seen her back in high school in my civics class but never caught her name. She popped up again in my English course at City College before I finally knew who she was.
    
      Viktoriya Lychenko. That was the name she had on her paper. She didn't bother to introduce herself when we paired up to critique each others' papers. When I gave her my name but she didn't give hers, I asked and she simply tapped the corner of her paper. What I thought was Russian efficiency at the time masked a darker secret.
    
      I had guessed (correctly) she was a recent emigre from the Russian Federation. Her sense of fashion was dated though. She wore pleated skirts that were probably forty years out of fashion, but she wore those skirts when most of the girls at school opted for either pants (or jeans, like Rachelle) or miniskirts (like Janet) meant Viktoriya Lychenko turned heads when she walked around the campus.
    
      I found Viktoriya standing on a step stool in a blue dress with white polka dots. She wore black pumps but no pantyhose. Her calf muscles flexed as she tip-toed to slip in a book on the top shelf. I didn't know how long I was standing there admiring her legs, but it was enough to bring back that bizarre line from Arthur Koestler's "Darkness at Noon," of the woman who had, "thighs like a wild mare."
    
      My eyes drifted from her throbbing calves past her sexy smooth thighs to her wiggling, jiggling bottom. She was high enough for me to just peek under her skirt if I had dared to stoop, but that would be too much. Hence, I just settled to watch her shake booty right at eye level.
    
      "Hey! Hey you!"
    
      I felt the wind of someone clapping their hands together inches from my face. I blinked and saw Viktoriya pointing at the books I had in my arms. I sheepishly turned handed them to her and I saw her lips curl into a cruel smile. I knew that she knew what I had been looking at all this time.
    
      As Viktoriya took the books from my hand, her fingers contacted mine and before I had any regrets, I had accidentally leaked a sliver of what I wanted to do to her raw naked body. I could see her face slacken as she felt my unbridled lust sting her psyche. Despite the long day she had, her mouth slowly formed an "O". She leaned drunkenly against the stacks, with me still handing my books to her.
    
      "Hey you two! C'mon! I have to get out of here," McCullen's shouts snapped Viktoriya out of her reverie.
    
      "Sorry ma'am." I let go of my books and glanced at Viktoriya. "Thanks."
    
      She didn't say a thing as she watched me leave, but I could feel her eyes on my back. I didn't know it yet, but I had met one of my most formidable darlings.
    
    ===============================================================================
      SHADOWY SEDUCTRESS
    ===============================================================================
    
      I had yet to adjust my own schedule from having classes annually to a semester by semester basis. My first semester had comprised of: design studio 100A, college English 1A, art 29A, calculus 1A, and -- interesting enough -- colloquial Chinese 1. One of the transfer prerequisites for IGETC and for the University of California was to successfully complete two semesters of a foreign language.
    
      Since Cantonese didn't count as a foreign language, I took the next best thing: Mandarin. The ease of it was supposedly in how the written language was the same. I thought I could ask Melanie (of all people) for help, but she was swamped in her middle school homework she often didn't have time to do much else during her visits. Unlike me, Melanie was a bright cookie, so she'd hit the books easily. So for Mandarin, I had to cheat and learn what I could on my own.
    
      Still, our conflicting schedules meant she stayed at her place more often than not. Only when I had the days to spare would I be around to let her in. In any case, I was so wrapped up in my xut-bai* mentality [* Cantonese: Failure, refers to either an event or personal failure], I even thought about a remedial course or even dropping out all together.
    
      Design studio was getting on my nerves. The demand on materials was enormous -- the classes cost the same, but the materials and tools for inking, drawing, and whatnot nearly quintupled the price (it got worse as I advanced). Miniature models look interesting, but the amount of time needed to cut, trim, and glue those damn things nearly drove me out of my mind.
    
      By the time Thanksgiving had come and gone, I was pretty much fried and distracted; all in spite of Janet's reassurances, Melanie's presence, and Shawn's friendship. To my chagrin, Rachelle herself was straining with pressure, but she bore it better than I.
    
      And lo, I thought! This was just my first semester! I was so distracted I didn't even notice how late it was at the library when I heard a light rapping on the reading desk. I looked up and saw Viktoriya eyeing me warily.
    
      "Ahem," she spoke in slightly accented English, "Six p.m. We are closed."
    
      "Oh yeah," I stood and packed. "Sorry."
    
      The brunette nodded then turned on her heel. I was hypnotized by the little Russian minx as she strode away, her bare legs occasionally peeking past the slit in her skirt. She wore a sleeveless white blouse. Viktoriya turned at the end of the stacks so I could see her in profile. From the way her tits jiggled, she was not wearing a bra.
    
      I caught her staring right back at me, her stern gaze skimmed over the tops of the books as she strode off towards the front desk. I sucked in a breath and wondered what the heck I was doing.
    
      Four women not enough? I chuckled so low only I could appreciate the ludicrous predicament I was in. I could barely keep up with their demands for my time, let alone deal with my academic life. I shook my head and shoved my notebooks, books, pencils, and other stuff into my bag and headed towards the exit.
    
      "Oh hey," I hefted the books I was carrying. "Can I leave these here?"
    
      Viktoriya nodded and pointed to the return counter. Ha-ha. Of course, I thought. Just leave it here. Someone like her will clean it up.
    
      "So, you are studying? ESP? Telepathy?"
    
      Viktoriya spoke so suddenly, I simply stopped and stared. When I didn't answer immediately, her gazed flicked towards the books I had just set down.
    
      "Oh," I sputtered, "This is just a hobby. Fun reading."
    
      She nodded sagely, as if she already knew what I was reading. Viktoriya rarely volunteered extraneous information aloud. I shook my head and said it was just something I was interested in.
    
      "Uh hey," I felt foolish about what I was going to say next but I did so anyway, "It's getting kinda late -- do you need a ride --"
    
      Viktoriya smiled but shook her head.
    
      "-- or a drink?" I felt my stomach growl and added, "How about something to eat?"
    
      Despite my present hunger, I realized I only felt a desire to fuck the shit out of Viktoriya. I wanted to get her nice legs around me and hear those nice wet "schtupping" noises.
    
      "No thank you," Viktoriya said firmly but politely. "I dance. I must keep fit."
    
      "You do a very good job," I blurted before I could control myself.
    
      "I know," her smile grew predatory. "I remember from the library."
    
      "Well," I gathered myself and stuck out my hand. "I'll see you in English class later."
    
      She took my hand, but her shake wasn't firm. I felt the scraping of paper being slipped into my hand.
    
      "I will see you," Viktoriya's eyes bored into mine.
    
      My knees quaked and threatened to buckle as I mumbled a hasty goodbye and slipped away. Outside the library, I felt a weight being lifted as I hurried down to the bus stop. I didn't even take a look at my hand -- at whatever she had given me -- until I was well past the bookstore and on the small green path to the bus shelter.
    
      I looked at the paper she gave me, and a note was written in small, crabbed script. It said: 'Friday. Library. Stay after 6. Viktoriya.'
    
      I was curious, excited, and sick at the same time. I wasn't sure if I wanted to start another relationship with another woman, no matter how innocent. If I kept going, I laughed, I'd have to devote something like a whole day to each girl, and leave myself two days out of the week for myself. It would be like a damned job. I surprised even myself with my smugness as I let Viktoriya's note drift away in the wind.
    
      Friday eh? I juggled my schedule. I'd better tell Melanie and Shawn not to expect me at home.
    
      Actually, the simple act of me telling Shawn and Melanie to cool their heels, followed by some electronic correspondence with Rachelle and Janet made me think a bit about our future. Melanie and Janet were already pretty much in the loop. Shawn knew about Janet and Rachelle (I introduced Melanie to her later), and Rachelle was mostly in the dark (although she too, began to suspect something was up).
    
      I needed to know where I was going in order for everyone to be happy. I had thought about the future -- my future with my lovely darlings -- since Faraz had mentioned how polygamy was an accepted fact in some parts of the world. The man always was able to provide amply for his household.
    
      With my gifts, I was limited to being a terrorist, a specialist, or a hermit on the fringe of society. I didn't want that for any of my girls or myself. Hence, I would have to find a method to use my gifts invisibly and surreptitiously. There had to be a way to apply them in a non-criminal fashion.
    
      Insider trading and embezzlement were too obvious. The Lincoln Savings and Loan scandal had taught me that. It would have to be something where I could be in close contact to those whom I would benefit from -- some job which would let me cast my influence. I was racking my brain on the career that'd let me do that when I felt a hand on my shoulder.
    
      "Hallo Stanislav," Viktoriya's voice was soft in my ear. She called me by my Russian name. "You made it."
    
      "Hi Viktoriya."
    
      I was absently doodling in my notebook so I closed it. Had I known then what I knew later, I may as well have told "Vika" everything on my mind. I looked around and most of the lights in the library were off. The place was pretty quiet. Her hand fell off my shoulder as she sat on the desk of my study cubicle. She put one foot on the edge of my seat and crossed her bare legs. This let more of her thigh show past the bulk of her skirt. I glanced at her, then the library's front desk. The place seemed a little too quiet.
    
      "Is it six already?" I asked. "Where's McCullen?"
    
      Viktoriya smiled and -- incredibly -- lit up a cigarette. I blinked and stared at this vixen.
    
      Who was she? And how brazen was she to do something like this?
    
      "Do not worry about the librarian. She is taking a nap." Viktoriya took a quick drag of her cigarette, held her breath, then hopped off and breathed it into me.
    
      "Oh Jesus," I coughed and choked as my eyes watered. "Y -- you can't smoke in the building."
    
      "Do not worry about that," the girl blew out a stream of acrid white smoke. "I know what you are. You know what I am."
    
      "Wait," I wiped my eyes and composed myself, "What do you mean? I don't know you do I?"
    
      Viktoriya stood and stubbed her cigarette on the underside of the table. Only now did I smell the odd lingering of nicotine in the air. I reached under the table and swabbed the edges of the underside and my fingertips came back black and sooty. This girl had done this many times before!
    
      Meanwhile, Viktoriya ignored me and was holding the cigarette butt at eye level, she muttered something in her native tongue as she slipped off her black pumps. Barefoot, she splayed her legs apart slightly as she held the crumpled cigarette in her hand.
    
      I felt a psychic disturbance that made me jump. I looked around but the library was quiet. In the distance, I could see what Viktoriya had meant by McCullen taking a nap. She was fast asleep in the most uncomfortable position on her desk (simply hunched over and asleep). I felt my heart skip a beat as I realized what Viktoriya was -- then I nearly jumped out of my skin when I saw what she could do.
    
      Viktoriya's crushed cigarette butt was still at eye level, but she no longer held it aloft. In fact, there was nothing holding aloft save by the sheer will of her beautiful mind. Her dark eyes beheld the little wad of tar scarred cotton with serious concentration. She saw my look of surprise and laughed. Her face then worked into a snarl and the stubbed cigarette flicked itself against my chest.
    
      The girl swayed uneasily after this little stunt. Despite my caution, I reached to hold her steady. Her hand caught mine and we immediately felt what the other thought. I felt Viktoriya's fingernails dig painfully into my hand. It was enough to hurt, but she sensed that I enjoyed it.
    
      With the ferocity of an animal, she grabbed a handful of my hair and pushed me down so I was kneeling before her. I was shocked to say the least. I wasn't used to being treated this way and I was wondering if I should try what I did to Rachelle the year before or that idiot at the pizzeria. Viktoriya must've felt my shock or intent (most likely it was both) and quickly let go. She didn't put immediate distance between me and her, but she understood my fear and surprise. She thought-spoke quickly to allay my fears.
    
      'I will not hurt you Stanley.'
    
      'What is this?' I was still kneeling but the sight of her luscious legs placated me, especially since she had released her physical grip.
    
      'I speak to you. Mind to mind.' Viktoriya felt my interest and she indulged me by unhooking her dress. She let it fall so she was standing in topless before me. I stood back up and gazed at her.
    
      "I like talking," I was surprised by how hoarse my voice was. I inhaled and continued, "How'd you do that with the cigarette? Are you like me?"
    
      At the time, Viktoriya was about as tall as I was. She was taller than Shawn, but shorter than Rachelle once she stood on her bare feet. She stepped close and draped her arms around my shoulder. She looked straight into my eyes and thought-spoke her answer to me.
    
      'I am like you ... but I am not like you.'
    
      I was slightly confused by her answer, but it didn't stop me from resting my palms on her back. The psychic brunette grinned wickedly and put her face dangerously close to mine.
    
      'You are a little like me: you love many girls. I too love many girls --'
    
      "You're a lesbian?" I interjected, "But wait -- you're too pretty --"
    
      '-- and boys.' Viktoriya kissed me lightly on the lips.
    
      "So," I put on my bravado and managed a devilish grin. "You're bisexual."
    
      "Why yes," Viktoriya finally spoke and laughed. "You don't believe me?"
    
      Her fingers slid through my hair, her fingertips grazed my scalp, and I felt little bits of her life float into mine. I felt a rising attraction to the sights and smells of the girls' locker room. I arched my brow as Viktoriya showed me the covers of the latest GQ magazines, but I understood her attraction to good-looking chiseled men.
    
      I felt my hard-on return though, once an image of a girl came up. It was a little blurry at first, but then an image of a pretty dark haired Asian girl came to fore. The location? I couldn't make it out clearly -- perhaps Viktoriya was obscuring it -- but it was dark. I could smell the girl as if I was the one eating out her pussy. Then an image of Rachelle popped up. My dark darling often enjoyed running at our old school and did stretches before starting.
    
      I felt a sudden bit of unease. How did she know Rachelle? Sensing my trepidation, Viktoriya showed me more. From the new mind-images, I realized that she had caught a glimpse of Rachelle one day during our final year of high school, and it turned her right-the-fuck on. As she closed in on the kill, she sensed Rachelle and I were an item. Suspecting I was something like her, Viktoriya backed off and observed. I was speechless.
    
      'I am a very good observer.' Viktoriya came through triumphantly with her thought-speak. 'I would do anything to have someone as beautiful as Rachelle.'
    
      I didn't know what to say or do. You'd figure that a half-dressed psychic girl and a psychic boy who used mind games to bag young hotties would be jumping at each other when the chance arose, but the truth was a little more sinister. Had Viktoriya been preying on boys, she would've likely left me alone. However, since she was bisexual she'd eventually intrude into my world.
    
      "So what do we do now?" I asked her the most straight-forward question I could think of. Actually, with her so close to me, it would be impossible for me to be sly with her.
    
      'I just want to talk.' Viktoriya canted her head and pouted.
    
      I wasn't taking her for face value.
    
      "So let's talk," I said aloud. Despite the fact I could think-speak to her, I was more accustomed to using audible words. "What do you want?"
    
      'Nothing you don't have already.' Viktoriya's mouth didn't move, but I felt her sensuality ooze behind her reply.
    
      'I want to try Rachelle. Maybe her two friends as well.' She cocked her head. 'They are still friends?'
    
      I couldn't really lie to her so I nodded. "They stay in touch."
    
      'Ghandia.' She plucked the names from me. 'And Heidi. I would like that. We can have some fun.'
    
      "Maybe you should ask first," I said.
    
      'We are better than they.' She flinched when I regarded her remark with repugnance. Viktoriya immediately back-pedalled and explained herself. 'I mean we are better in regards to our --' she used a term in her native tongue but I understood her meaning: "mental-selves".
    
      Her bigotry still fresh on my mind, I contemplated what to do. With this much of our bodies in direct contact, Viktoriya could sense my feelings as easily as I could hers. I felt her incessant probing of my mind and nudged her away from what I regarded as private info. The amount of probing simply increased manifold -- she was good.
    
      Still, while the girl probed me, it meant she wasn't guarding herself well. I managed to get occasional glimpses of her private thoughts as well. She was originally from Ukraine, near the area bordering Moldavia. She immigrated into the United States in 1987. If we both tried to overload each other's brain synapses, maybe, just maybe ...
    
      'It will not work.' Viktoriya heard what I was thinking. 'What we are doing now would drive most insane by now.'
    
      "Really?" I sounded more worried than I was. "But this is nothing!"
    
      'You can hear me only because you are touching me.' Viktoriya licked her lips. 'Skin to --' She gave a muffled squeal as I pressed my lips against hers and finished her thought: '-- SKIN.'
    
      This was certainly much more than I asked for than a simple trip to the library. While I eagerly breathed in this fresh new foreign odor, I (figuratively speaking) had a million questions: who, what, when, and how --
    
      'How many?' Viktoriya drew back to catch her breath.
    
      "Yes," I nodded, although it was fairly pointless to do so.
    
      'There are others but I do not know how many.' She wrinkled her nose. 'You are the first I have met here. In America.'
    
      "So there others like us," I felt her caress the back of my neck. "Who do you know?"
    
      Viktoriya's eyes dipped. 'Just my half-brother. But someone killed him. Someone like us.'
    
      My neck hairs stood when she thought-spoke that to me. My fear and surprise hit her harder than I wanted. She nearly jumped out of my arms, but she calmed down quickly and hugged me.
    
      'I know it was not you.'
    
      "How could you be sure?" I savored her proximity despite the potential danger.
    
      'I sensed you did not know about Pyotr.' Viktoriya became coy. 'And you would have to older. He died at Tchornobyl.'
    
      The name sounded familiar.
    
      "You mean the Chernobyl nuclear plant?" I blinked. "That was 1986."
    
      'Yes.' She looked at me. 'You and I are the same age, no?'
    
      "Yeah, so you must've been --"
    
      'Twelve.'
    
      The same age as Melanie, I realized. Viktoriya leaned close and hugged me. I sensed a certain degree of camaraderie, like she had found someone she could communicate with. I hugged her back. Even as telepaths, we both understood the tenderness behind this physical act.
    
      "I'm sorry," I murmured but she stopped me with a kiss.
    
      'You are so clumsy with your words Stanley.' Viktoriya fingered the buttons on my shirt before she began undoing them. 'But so sweet.'
    
      'I am?' I thought-spoke to her and she grinned wickedly.
    
      She slid off my shirt, exposing my chest. 'Yes you are.'
    
      I felt Viktoriya's breath on my body and my pants tightened appreciably. She teased my nipples with her tongue then she suddenly clamped down on it hard enough to hurt, but not enough to draw blood.
    
      "Aaaggh," I gasped and dug my fingers into her ass. She returned the favor by biting down a little more, almost enough to break my skin.
    
      'One of them knows you like that does she not?' Viktoriya's feral eyes regarded me darkly.
    
      That would be Shawn. Damn. Was there nothing that she wouldn't drag out of me?
    
      Viktoriya caught my last few thoughts and giggled.
    
      'I know what you want.' She brushed back her long black hair and pushed away from me. 'Help me.'
    
      I felt my pulse quicken as she hopped on a foot to remove her panties. I steadied her then quickly picked her up. Viktoriya gasped. It was hard to surprise her at this point, but I managed to do so briefly. I carried her to one of the larger reading tables. With her lying on them, I took her panties and let my eyes dance over her sexy athletic body.
    
      It didn't matter that the library was closed. The librarian was psychically knocked out (Viktoriya was more adroit at that) and the only two people conscious were two telepaths who wanted some time alone. Viktoriya was full of gaeity as she sat up on the table and offered her hand to me.
    
      'Come to me --' her mind slipped into her native tongue then back to English. 'I want you in me. I have dance class at eight.'
    
      "Dance class?" I looked at her and remembered she mentioned it before. "I didn't know City offered that."
    
      "They do," Viktoriya nodded and spoke aloud. "But I am transferring next year."
    
      "Where to?" I felt an immediate pang of regret.
    
      "Dance and motion-performing arts at Berkeley," she said proudly, then it was back to her thought-speak. 'You will see me again.'
    
      She held out her hand and I took it as another question came to me.
    
      "How can you be so sure?"
    
      'We are so unique.' Viktoriya's eyes slid down toward my cock. 'And you are not repulsive.'
    
      I chuckled. Her vernacular was still hampered by her trying to acclimatize to English. I sensed she meant no disrespect; it was just her choice of words were limited. Viktoriya read my mind and shot me an unhappy look.
    
      'So you think you're so smart eh you --' she slid again into her native tongue but I got the meaning.
    
      Feeling foolish, I leaned towards her and kissed her. She returned my kisses, but awkwardly. I climbed over her, my body longing to plunge into her lithe dancer's depths. Viktoriya sighed as I grabbed her ankles and spread her legs apart.
    
      'Slow.' I heard her voice in my mind. 'Slow please. I --' The briefest crack in her mental defences allowed a small sliver of private information to slip into my consciousness. Beyond her lewd experiences with the girl, I got the distinct feeling she was hiding something. Stumbling through her thoughts, I found her secret.
    
      "You're a virgin?" I blurted absently.
    
      How was it that she was a virgin despite the fact she could probably take control over any man she desired? Viktoriya's eyes went wide and she clumsily tried to shut her legs. However, I was already between her legs and my cock hovering over her furry, cushy cunt.
    
      'Yes.' She sat up and looked at me defiantly. 'Boys are too much risk.'
    
      "Maybe you're just shy," I said.
    
      'As I said, I am not like you. I cannot tell someone to do my bidding without showing myself. I would be naked in mind and body.'
    
      I smiled absently, thinking how she was so _nekkid_ right now.
    
      'What is so funny?!' Viktoriya looked angrier than she really was, and it made my smile wider.
    
      'You were a virgin too. With that old hag you call Janet!!' Her thoughts bordered on jealousy more than anger and I stroked her sides gently to calm her.
    
      "I'm sorry," I said, "It's just you looked so --"
    
      'Do not take me as one of your women!' She slapped my face. It was not a deliberate attack, but it was not gentle either. I rubbed my cheek and grinned. Her face went from rejection to one of uncertainty and fear. I was starting to enjoy Viktoriya's light-handed abuse and she knew it.
    
      Viktoriya was still sitting in a vulnerable position. I was probably less physically fit than she, but I didn't let on as all I had on my mind was fully fucking this nude Slavic slut-minx just inches before me.
    
      'I ... do not ... want to ... hurt ... you.' The girl's thought-speech was hesitant and soft. She was losing her concentration and was trying to establish dominance once more. That or her powers were indeed of little use in persuasion -- clearly my strong suite. I caught her hand gently and put her palm against my injured cheek.
    
      "I'll be gentle," I whispered.
    
      She gave me a doubtful look as she surrendered to my advances. I gingerly urged Viktoriya to lie on the table. She watched -- eyes and legs wide open -- as I stroked my dick over her fuzzy slit. She let out a sigh as I pressed the length of my shaft on her little hood. As Janet showed me, some times a woman's clit needed some coaxing to make it emerge. Once it did though, the clit could be played with along with some long deep strokes to make a girl feel great.
    
      I reached down with my free hand and gently tweaked Viktoriya's dark nipples. Her hands began stroking her oily slit and cup her breasts. After a few minutes of foreplay, my cock was hard enough that I could push it in. She sensed what I was going to do and propped herself up on her elbows.
    
      I sensed the thoughts from her mind: 'Will it hurt more than it would with my fingers?'
    
      Momentarily forgetting that Viktoriya spoke with her mind, I began working the tip of my engorged cock into her. She gasped and put a hand on my chest.
    
      'Will it hurt more than two fingers?' She stared at me and her face wore a worried look.
    
      "Sorry," I muttered, "It might just a little. I'm not that big but if it hurts too much, you just tell me and I'll stop."
    
      Her body relaxed and her hand fell away. I looked at her for permission to continue. Viktoriya nodded slowly and bade me to proceed. Her mouth opened as her eyes followed my unsheathed, uncircumcised dick slid slowly into her virgin cunt. My blood pumped through my arteries and veins, and I could feel myself pulse within her.
    
      "Oh -- my --"
    
      It was enough to cause Viktoriya to throw her head back. Something guttural fluttered from her throat as I hilted myself into her juicy cunt lips. I stayed perfectly still, enjoying the moist warmth that was Miss Lychenko, ex-virgin. I toyed with her breasts, and reached behind her to pull her close. When Viktoriya pulled herself forward again, I could see some slobber hanging from the edge of mouth.
    
      Her eyes saw I was fully vested into her body. She looked up and we locked eyes. Sensing her desire, I seized her and kissed her deeply. I drew away slightly as I began moving my hips and she let out a short yelp. Viktoriya gripped me roughly and savagely bit my neck and lips. As she got used to my motions, she relaxed and let me work on her.
    
      I pushed into Viktoriya bare-backed. After a few minutes more of my hard rod plumbing her funky depths, she signaled her readiness to cum. I held her as she veritably leaped into my arms (telekinesis most likely) and rode me until I was ready to burst. She screamed like a banshee as I repeatedly rammed my cock into her.
    
      Had it been any of the other girls, I wouldn't have been so rough. Once Viktoriya got going though, she was a feral bitch in heat. I shot my sex scuzz deep into her eager womb, neither caring or wondering how she'd avoid winding up in a state of embarrassing pregnancy (she told me later that she pushed my gunk out with her telekinesis -- that and some modified form of Kegel exercises from her motion study courses).
    
      I felt Viktoriya body's shudder at the same time a weird, warm feeling began to flow down my inner thigh. I plopped the little nymphomaniac on the reading table and saw that she had pissed out some musky clear liquid. Both of our crotches were slick, wet messes and Viktoriya was still shaking from the experience. It was just like the girl who I induced an orgasm back in Utah.
    
      Watching Viktoriya jerk her gaping, sloppy hole gave me my second wind. Before she could think-speak, I had put myself into her again. She shrieked once at the uninvited intrusion, but she quickly devolved into hoarse cries as I fucked her with my sperm covered prick. I practically drained my balls as I emptied my sack of fluid a second time. This time, her orgasm wasn't as loud, but her wail definitely resonated off the building's walls. Thankfully, the librarian stayed sedated.
    
      It was nearly seven. We dressed as best we could, and while I wiped down the mess in the reading room, Viktoriya tapped the librarian awake before we skipped out. We had a quick dinner at McDonalds. It wasn't much, but after such a workout, we were both unabashedly hungry. It would be one of the few times I saw Viktoriya wolf down a whole jumbo burger without worrying over her figure or her health.
    
      Despite my workload, I accompanied her to dance class. For the rest of the night, I watched Viktoriya frolic, stretch, and dance her sensuous dancing. It was some serious business and I was duly impressed. After class, we shared a little more than a cheap dinner. The scent of our love-making was washed off only in the wee hours of the next morning.
    
      Unlike Janet, Rachelle, and Shawn, Viktoriya was very much my partner in extra-sensory powers. In fact, I noticed that my gifts increased in number and potency when we were together. Viktoriya was one of those rare psychokineticists. Eventually, I learned much more about my mysterious darling. I also acquired some of her gifts and she, some of mine.
    
      I could do some of the tricks she could (like with the cigarette butt) but only with simple objects, like a can of soda or a relatively smooth sphere or even shove aside cars (though they generally get dents afterwards). To this day, I have some difficulty juggling oranges without crushing them simply because of their rough skin. Apples are far easier thanks to their smoother skins.
    
      Viktoriya however, was able to manipulate more complex surface areas hence she could lift larger, more "delicate" masses like motorcycles, furniture, and vehicles without tearing them apart.
    
      Together though, we were more potent: I could affect objects more complex in nature (the ones Viktoriya could handle by herself) but my dusky Russkie was able to lift extremely complex objects like whole trains (with various car types) or a whole marina of boats of different shapes and sizes. And that was before she'd get pissed off and really concentrated.
    
      Viktoriya wasn't only my partner on the psychokinetic and extra-sensory department. Later, when she and I weren't busy drafting or model-making or dancing, we'd look into Melanie. Of course getting little Chen to spare her precious time was the other thing. While Melanie didn't mind spending time with me, she was naturally jealous of Viktoriya's presence. Nonetheless, the two of us experimented and explored Melanie's powers.
    
      As it turned out, my hypothesis about my little darling turned out to be somewhat true. That would eventually make Melanie one of the most sought after people in the empire.
    
    ===============================================================================
      MEETING THE MASTER
    ===============================================================================
    
      I remembered that day. I had passed two semesters at the community college. Viktoriya bade me farewell on the last day of finals; she would be commuting daily to the university in Berkeley from her parents' place. She lived in a slightly different part of town, but attended my old school. Her program demanded a different kind of investment than mine  but it was still substantial. Her physical training for dance was demanding and we'd like not meet each other -- physically speaking -- for some time.
    
      'But I can still speak to you.' I heard her clearly in my mind as the bus pulled away. Viktoriya didn't look at me but I heard her hum a homely little ditty. Her song was still in my mind some 20 minutes later and she was clearly out of sight. Then I heard her thought-speech again.
    
      'I am home Stanley.'
    
      I relaxed inwardly and bade her a goodnight.
    
      'Good night.'
    
      There was a brief pause, then I glimpsed her briefly. Viktoriya was stark naked before a mirror, her legs split like a gymnast on the floor of her bedroom. I saw her dark Slavic eyes gazing at her own reflection and realized she did so for my benefit. What she saw, I saw through her. I took in her strong features, tight dancer's body, B-cup breasts.
    
     'Think to me when you are with them.'
    
      I then realized what Viktoriya wanted. She wanted to use mind-sight to watch me fuck a girl. What a twist. A stupid grin crossed my face as I headed towards the bus shelter going the other way. I had to go meet Melanie and Shawn. Janet would be coming back soon. And Rachelle was due back for a quick visit. How great was Viktoriya's timing?
    
      As the bus passed through Golden Gate Park, it went under a small overpass. The interior of the bus darkened as went through. I suddenly got this bizarre feeling that I was being spied on. I passed a glance around the interior of the bus but saw no one who I recognized or took notice of me.
    
      No one should've noticed me once I was alone. Unless I was with one of my friends, I found it handy to practice becoming invisible to 'normals' around me. It was handy to avoid paying bus fare (although it was moot when my mother would buy me a bus pass each month). It nevertheless gave me more practice, and I was quite good at it.
    
      Hence, anyone who managed to pierce my veil meant he (or she) was adroit with their gifts, or was not affected by my powers (like Melanie). I felt distinctly uncomfortable -- enough that once the bus cleared the park, I hopped off the first stop available. I stood at the corner of the street and felt the presence lingering. It was incredible. I paused and wondered what to do.
    
      Was it Viktoriya? No -- this was different. When she and I experimented with mind-sight, it was to see how far we could maintain it (its range was virtually unlimited). It didn't come all too handy in English class (the tests were critical thought essays, not multiple choice) but it did come in handy. For example, Viktoriya and I scored some sweet deals shopping in two different markets clear across the city.
    
      When we used mind-sight though, we were always keenly aware that the other person was peering through our eyes. After-all, we were broadcasting our thoughts. But the feeling I had now was one where I was being watched externally -- out of my mind.
    
      Since it wasn't Viktoriya, I considered contacting her immediately; perhaps it was another one of our kind. But I stopped short. While a second telepath would be handy, I realized had feelings for Viktoriya. To endanger her needlessly was not my modus operandi.
    
      It was then that I saw him. He was the same man I saw over a year ago at the school dance -- the place where I held another classmate in my arms as he died. He looked the same, exactly the same. He had the same receding black hair and wrinkles around his eyes. His simple black clothing was brightened by a chalk gray blazer. He saw me notice him and he motioned languidly with one hand. I hesitated only for a moment then stepped towards him.
    
      "Who are you?" I asked. I didn't know how, but I knew he was the one who was spying on me.
    
      "My name is Tseng," he replied laconically, "Come walk with me. We have much to discuss."
    
    ===============================================================================
      COPYRIGHT: 2009. THIS WORK IS CONSIDERED PRIVATE AND ITS DISTRIBUTION IS
                 EXPRESSLY FOR FTP.ASSTR.ORG AND MCSTORIES.COM. THE UN-AUTHORIZED
                 DISTRIBUTION OF THIS DOCUMENT MAY BE CONSIDERED A VIOLATION OF
                 COPYRIGHT AND DISSEMINATION OF OBSCENE MATERIAL IN YOUR COUNTRY.
                 YOU MAY BE SUBJECT YOU TO PENALITIES INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED
                 TO:
    
                 FINES, INCARCERATION, OR CAPITAL OR OTHER FORMS OF PUNISHMENT.
    
                 PLEASE CHECK WITH YOUR LOCAL LAWS BEFORE CREATING OR DISTRIBUTING
                 OBSCENE AND OBJECTIONABLE MATERIALS.
    
         AUTHOR: MAXIMILLIAN ZHANG
    
        EDITORS: FERMAT and VOYER
    
         E-MAIL: GREY228 [ON] HOTMAIL
    ===============================================================================
    


	2. Invisible Empire - Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stanley is an average kid - easily distracted, lazy, and unremarkable. Then he discovers he has not just a power, but several powers. Creepy abilities that can't be fully understood, or even mastered. Trouble begins when he starts using his powers, and in doing so, Stanley will meet Davey (from Steven Gould's 'Jumper' novel) and the Roget family (from Robert Cormier's 'Fade').
> 
> Many of the other characters are drawn from my personal past, although many more are simply stock characters (this is a porn story after all). I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
    
    
    ===============================================================================
      LEGAL DISCLAIMER
    ===============================================================================
    
    The following literary work is one of historic fiction. While certain elements may be recognized as based on actual events, the characters and personal events are fictitious. No actual persons were involved in the creation of this fictional work, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is pure coincidence.
    
    Certain characters portrayed within this work are copyrighted to Gould (1993) and Cormier (1988). The author wishes to express his deep gratitude towards the aforementioned authors for giving him creative inspiration when still a young man, and to stretch his imaginations beyond one's own reality. For this, and the countless other aspiring writers in the mainstream and underground markets you've inspired, the author sincerely thanks you. No malice or slight was intended by the willful inclusion of your marvelous creations into this work.
    
    This work is intended for adults, and features situations, dialogue, and descriptions that are unsuitable for minors. Please be mindful of your local laws and customs in regards to distributing or dissemination of obscene material. Thank you.
    
    ===============================================================================
    
                                   I. See. You.
    
                                   -- Drebin 893 (Metal Gear Solid 4, 2009)
    
    ===============================================================================
      AN INVISIBLE EMPIRE
    ===============================================================================
    
      You can see us, but you do not know where we are.
    
      You can hear us, but you do not know what we are.
    
      You can even speak with us, but you will not know who we are.
    
      We are an invisible empire, a secret kingdom, and we rule the world.
    
                                     =======
      -----------
      PREVIOUSLY:
      -----------
    
      Stanley Chen becomes cognizant of his abilities while still a pre-teen. He accidentally uses his "gift" to persuade his tutor, an older girl named Janet, to seduce him. They engage in a secret, furtive relationship for four years before financial difficulties keep Janet at a distance in college.
    
      Near the start of his junior year in high school, Stanley meets a young latent empath named Melanie. While he considers her too young to be attractive, the girl nonetheless becomes a psychic groupie. At the same time, Stanley fosters a relationship with two more girls: one his age named Rachelle, and a younger girl, Shawn, whom he treats with sisterly affection.
    
      Stanley's time is severely divided among his various interests: love, academic, family, and otherwise, damaging his academic career and forcing him into community college. Here, he meets a girl who is equal (perhaps even greater) in mental powers who finds in him some commonality in lifestyle. As his first year of college ends, Stanley meets a mysterious man who wields much knowledge and power in the invisible empire.
    
    ===============================================================================
      DARK RECKONING
    ===============================================================================
    
      Rachelle lay atop me, her smooth thighs slid enticingly over my crotch, threatening to draw me out from my trance. I cupped one of her breasts and slid the length of my hand over her moist clam. She groaned and turned her head to the side, her lips aching for mine. I obliged her lusts but kept my inner focus on holding aloft a small barbeque grill outside in the backyard, a mere ten feet away from where Rachelle and I were making arduous love.
    
      I would have gladly broadcast my conquest to my bi-curious Cossack cutie, but her dance practice began in early evening at her new school. Viktoriya threatened that if I played even one of my mind-pranks on her while she was in class, she'd break into my house and tear me a new asshole. In any case, it was the perfect excuse to practice my other exercises.
    
      My lovely black beauty, Rachelle Elizabeth Hollister, had come back for a visit to her parents, but she could not stay long. We met and chatted about our academic lives, then quickly made up for some lost time. However, little did Rachelle know that I was slowly evolving; after having met Tseng, I felt a new confidence surge through me as I began pushing the limits of my gifts. I learned to improve my efficiency and potency, but I also possessed more gifts than I originally thought I had.
    
      For example, I didn't know I was a psychokineticist. I found I had affinity for telekinesis after I met Tseng. He surmises that Viktoriya's proximity may have triggered my latent gifts. That, or I subconsciously learned from being with her. In the meantime, the strength of my mental projection increased, along with my psychic defences. However, my ability to persuade others pretty much remained unchanged.
    
      In regards to conversational persuasion, I couldn't tell someone to do what I wanted off the top of my head, but given enough preparation, I could nudge someone in the right direction or even induce an itch; it's hard to concentrate once you're scratching incessantly. As for my gift to persuade others to not see me, someone who wanted to look for me would eventually find me. Thankfully, I hadn't given anyone the reason to do so.
    
      Tseng found me though. I realized then it didn't matter how powerful I would be, _he_ was far more powerful than I could imagine. As I entered Rachelle with my wrapped cock, I found myself distracted as I wondered about my eccentric mentor.
    
      I ran through my chat with Tseng again. He had walked with me and asked me some direct questions: how long had I been using my gifts, where and when did I use them, and how many girls had I absconded with. I answered his first questions without aplomb or hesitation, but I took offence at his last question. Tseng took notice and regarded me with his well trained eyes.
    
      'You can hide in your self-made harem all you want boy.' His thought-speak was harsher and louder than his actual voice (which was quite tinny and unimpressive). 'But what do you think would happen if the families of those girls get wind of what you've been doing?' His eyes narrowed dangerously as he went on broadcasting. 'Do you think they would spare you trouble for any of that?'
    
      I didn't have an immediate answer ready, so I kept silent. Tseng dug deeper and discovered my liaisons with Viktoriya and Melanie. The others he dismissed once he realized they were not exhibiting any tell-tale signs of our gift. When he explained his hypothesis of Melanie, I heard his tone soften. He seemed interested in meeting her, but he did not say so.
    
      "She sounds passive," he said aloud in a hushed voice. "Keep her under control and she'll die happily as an old woman."
    
      Tseng spoke normally that time. I suppose as powerful as he was, sometimes speaking naturally was just that: talking normally. In regards to Viktoriya, he seemed hesitant. It would be one of the few times he would be at a loss for words. After I described what I saw her do, Tseng explained she was indeed a psychokineticist. Possibly a quite powerful one with someone like me in her proximity.
    
      "So what am I?" I finally asked.
    
      "You are a catalyst, Stanley Chen," Tseng turned to face me with a flat, dead smile. "What powers you have, you piggy-back off others. When you are close to another of the empire, you both increase in power."
    
      "Empire?" I blinked, not understanding. "What empire?"
    
      It was then Tseng revealed the invisible empire and explained the rules of its citizens: do not reveal the empire or commit to actions that may expose it; do not interfere with the lifestyle of another subject of the empire, even if you may disagree with the choice of lifestyle personally; interfere only if the lifestyle threatens to expose the empire; when required, all citizens of the empire must unite and quell those who may expose our existence to the 'normal' world.
    
      To this last rule, Tseng had taken it on himself to seek out "new citizens" and teach them how to properly use their powers, and with absolute discretion. At the time, I thought the empire consisted of telepaths like Tseng, Viktoriya and myself, and the occasional oddity like Melanie; little did I know it stretched to cover other sorts of weirdness.
    
      Tseng was certainly unhappy when he heard about my experiments during my last trip to America's heartland. However, none of that seemed to be too obvious. He was surprisingly knowledgeable when I described the incident at the pizzeria.
    
      "Thankfully, it was taken care of," he said simply.
    
      I then realized that Tseng (or others like him) had been surreptitiously shadowing me for some time. I asked how long the empire had been watching me.
    
      "Long enough," was the answer.
    
      Tseng seemed to relax as he got the rest of my story. When I finished, he related an incident when one young fool decided to control a small town; Tseng confronted and destroyed him, then with a few others, psychically erased the trauma and physical evidence that the errant telepath had caused.
    
      "It was a shame," his voice was banal. "He would have been a great citizen, had he just exercised some self control."
    
      "You are telling me this why?" I asked.
    
      "So you do not make the same mistake."
    
      Then, to demonstrate how he had "neutralized" the problem, Tseng extended his arm to touch a nearby street lamp. His fingertips barely scratched the surface but I heard a screech and saw the shavings fall from the metal surface.
    
      "Discipline and control," Tseng regarded me with his cold dead eyes. "Without it, you will endanger yourself and the other two as well. 'Normals' --" he used a term unique in our kind's vernacular, a thought-symbol that combined the ideas of death, endless torture, and deadly experimentation by faceless men holding scary instruments, "-- must NEVER know what you are."
    
      "So you would kill me," I said matter-of-factly. I lowered my voice, "And Viktoriya."
    
      "Yes." His voice held no emotion.
    
      "Yu-Ching too?" I glared at him. "She's harmless!"
    
      "One is timid, the other brazen," the gaunt man said. "The little one won't warrant undue attention unless you cease watching her. Viktoriya can be dangerous, but she is not foolish. It is not her nature. You found that out personally."
    
      My face flushed deep red. Indeed Tseng was right about Viktoriya. She had been spying on me before I was aware of her. How careless of me! I knitted my brow with worry.
    
      "You will keep them under control for your sakes."
    
      "Why me?" I asked. "You don't even know me."
    
      "I know you enough that you will keep them docile until you tire of them," Tseng spoke of my darlings like disposable luxuries. "Then we shall see."
    
      "That won't happen," I became defensive.
    
      Tseng said nothing as we walked on a little more.
    
      "You can meet them," I relaxed my tone. "Speak to them both as you are doing now."
    
      "No."
    
      He was firm but offered me no explanation for his refusal. Tseng instructed me in a way that only a telepath can: with sharp bursts of mental instructions. While I could withstand thought-speech with Viktoriya, it was different with Tseng. After a minute, I was dizzy and ill. I had to sit on the ground to pull myself together. The mysterious man didn't stick around though. He tersely imparted his message, his lesson, and that was it. When I looked up again, Tseng had disappeared and in my mind was a singular message:
    
      'I'll be around.'
    
      My thoughts drifted back to what I was doing. I ran through the choice bits of training and simply realized I just needed to practice. Multi-tasking was what I was working on now. Rachelle was lying under me, her warm body yielded to the pummeling I was giving her, but I kept concentration on keeping the grill in the backyard off the ground. Looking back at my meeting with Tseng was simply another exercise.
    
      All this was taking a toll on me and I was straining. Rachelle could see me but didn't understand what I was preoccupied with. She thought I was trying hard not to cum so she decided to help me along. She entwined her arms around my neck and drew me down. Rachelle's scent drove me over the edge and I shot my load. At the same time, I lost my concentration and the grill crashed to the ground with a clatter.
    
      "What was that?" Rachelle clutched me tightly.
    
      Unlike Janet, I brought Rachelle home to meet my parents, especially since Andrew had met her last year. I introduced her not merely as my old classmate, but a girl whom I was dating. This gave us some measure of privacy. Nonetheless, Rachelle was shy about my parents (or worse, both our parents) walking in on us while we were making the sign of the inverted starfish. Like Janet, Rachelle learned to be very discreet about our love-making. The loud clatter in the backyard made her jump.
    
      "It's probably just a cat," I groaned and ground my hips against hers, frustrated she had cut short my exercise.
    
      "You should go check," Rachelle sighed and stroked my back. "You know, just in case."
    
      "Yeah," I rolled off her, chucked the condom into the trash, and started dressing up.
    
      "Stanley?"
    
      "Yeah sugar?"
    
      "Are you still seeing Janet?"
    
      I looked back at Rachelle. She was sitting upright in my new bed. It was smaller since I had a drafting table in my room now. This mean when I had a girl over, I generally slept on the ground afterwards. Rachelle regarded me with sad, quiet eyes.
    
      "What do you mean?" I sat next to her. Somehow, this was vaguely familiar. I had thought I had undergone something similar a year before.
    
      "I could see it in your eyes," Rachelle cast a downward glance. "And there's a new picture of her on your desk."
    
      "Oh." I cursed inwardly.
    
      Janet had taken a new photo of herself (dressed in a spiffy business suit to match her new haircut) and Melanie planted the sucker in my room as a "sisterly" favor. Janet might as well have come into my room and pee'd all over the place to mark her territory. I looked at Rachelle and explained myself. I feared I had to relive my fiery argument with Janet all over again, but to my surprise, Rachelle didn't react as I expected.
    
      In an ironic twist, she confessed that she had been screwing around down in L.A. While she flirted with a guy here and there, there was one in particular who she let him get a little closer. She fucked him a week or so before she flew back to the city. Ghandia hadn't a clue, or else she would've leaked it back to Faraz (then back to me) so this was news to me.
    
      I didn't know if I should act elated or jealous, because frankly, I felt neither. Rachelle was entitled to do what she wanted with her body. While I enjoyed my time with her, I hadn't expressly asked for her to be exclusive. In fact, I had not even thought to bring it up while we were dating. So, I decided to approach it as gently as I could.
    
      "Oh sugar," I patted her hand. "That's all right. You had fun and stayed safe right?"
    
      Rachelle nodded, her eyes brimming with emotion.
    
      "I'm sorry about Janet," I said. "But she's a good friend and we always played safe, as I am with you."
    
      My black beauty bit her lip and looked so downcast I tried to soothe her.
    
      "If I hurt you, I'm sorry," I forced myself to smile. "If you can't stand me, I'll go."
    
      "I don't know what to say."
    
      "Well, you always wanted to meet more of my friends right?" I joked despite the situation. "Even back in school!"
    
      "Not THOSE kinds of friends." Rachelle made a face then her brow arched as she realized something. "That girl at the paper --!"
    
      "Shawn," I put a hand on hers to calm her. "What about her?"
    
      "Did you?" she glared at me. "And while we --?!"
    
      "Yes," I confessed. "Her too."
    
      "God," she inhaled sharply. "This, this is so --!!"
    
      "Bohemian?"
    
      Rachelle sniffed. She learned that term when we were watching that episode of M.A.S.H. one late night. It was the one when Major Winchester fell in love with the French army nurse. I was taking a humanities course at the time and was simply excited to have found a usage of the term. My black beauty had chided me about making television boring by turning it into, "edu-tainment."
    
      "You know," I lowered my voice to a whisper. "Shawn wanted to get to know you. I think she admires you."
    
      Rachelle scoffed and looked at me sternly. "Don't patronize me. I mean, would you like to meet Craig?"
    
      "Sure," I shrugged. "If you're okay with it."
    
      "Stanley, sugar." She stopped and soured; she called me that so often, it came naturally. "Look, I didn't mean it that way."
    
      I patted her cheek and gave her an "Eskimo kiss" by touching my nose to hers.
    
      "Rachelle. We're all adults. Let's not dwell over nothing."
    
      My mind was both adventuresome and generous, and my spirit was infectious. I had grown, as did Rachelle. Such pettiness was not worth the strain on either of us. Soon, I could sense Rachelle let go of her jealousy over Janet as much as I did over her dalliance with some guy whose name I'd already forgotten. We stayed like that for some time before we spoke again.
    
      "We're going to be late," I kissed her.
    
      We got dressed and headed out. We were late for Jon-Peter's and Heidi's official engagement dinner party. To both our credit, Rachelle and I behaved like adults. Faraz, Ghandia, Jon-Peter's parents, Heidi's parents, and her brother Patrick were there to hear the good news. Together, Rachelle and I wished them happiness we both were searching for. It came for us later. Much later.
    
    ===============================================================================
      TASKED TO ASK
    ===============================================================================
    
      As my time at community college neared its end, I had the dubious opportunity to participate in the first of many assignments. The man Tseng had not spoken to me, physically or otherwise, for some time. Therefore it was very curious thing that I got a summons in the form of a mental flash. It was a quick and dirty thing: a still of a building, a clock, a day on the calendar, and then nothing.
    
      Had I been a 'normal', I would have blanked out from the psychic shock. As I wasn't, I didn't. While I withstood the uninvited telepathy, it was unexpected, like lightning from a clear blue sky, and I nearly stumbled and fell. Thankfully, I was not alone.
    
      In one of those rare days I had crawled ahead of my studies, I opted to spend a half day of leisure with two of my treasured darlings: Shawn Ellen Horten, who was about to graduate high school in a few short months and go onto San Jose State, and Melanie Chen, who had just celebrated her 13th birthday some weeks earlier and would soon attend the same middle school as my brother Andrew.
    
      Shawn caught me by the arm, eliciting an immediate response from Melanie. I leaned on both girls and contented to simply sit on the nearest revetment at the zoo.
    
      "Are you okay?" Shawn asked.
    
      I nodded and gave her a pleasant smile. My lovely Anglo angel had lost much of her baby fat as her body began maturing; however, this did little to change her kind, thoughtful nature.
    
      "I'll get you some water," Shawn looked around and spotted a water fountain. "I'll be right back."
    
      The psychic disturbance was so startling, I could only nod in silent agreement. Melanie watched the older girl leave before she knelt before me.
    
      "Take _my_ drink Stanley," my littlest darling offered up her cup, still half-full of cherry slushee.
    
      "I'll do that," I said, "If you cut that out right now."
    
      Melanie quickly stood back up, still holding her drink before me. Yu-Ching had gotten into her pretty head that I would be more pleased with her if she adopted some more submissive positions she'd seen (or gotten hints of) on Chinese television. Those soap operas set in period China really made an impression on her. I'd often find Melanie kneeling, sitting, or positioning herself in a way where she'd have to look up towards me.
    
      At first, I had gotten a mild kick out of it, as most of the other girls were nearly at my height (or taller) but soon, I realized she was using that to actively monopolize my attention (especially when the others were around). I decided to firmly (but gently) put my foot down, otherwise Melanie's inhibitions would run out of control.
    
      Control and discipline. Those words made me gnash my teeth. Tseng's words. The only other who would be able to think-speak that clearly to me was Viktoriya, and she knew that I would not be seeing her today. I had told her I was to be indisposed.
    
      'Indisposed my ass!' Viktoriya sniffed as she thought-spoke to me on Friday: 'You're planning to take that Exhibitionist-Slut and the Fat-Freckle-Face to the zoo!'
    
      My ex-Commie cutie had some rather unkind nicknames for each of my other darlings. Janet, my devoted First she called Tom-Boy. Doubtless it was derived from not just her latest hair style (which made her appear like Joan Chen) but also from her forward nature. After all, Janet was the one who seduced me years ago.
    
      Rachelle, the mulatto girl whom everyone else thought I was dating, Viktoriya had coined Two-Face. This was for her seeing another man when she was away at college and for her mixed blood. She didn't use that moniker much in my presence, for I knew she had wanted to make sapphic overtures towards Rachelle.
    
      Shawn received the dubious moniker of Fat-Freckle-Face because, according to Viktoriya, it was my angelic baby girl's plump body that drove me crazy. My Russian beauty's most vicious barbs though, was retained for a fellow empire citizen: the latent empath Melanie. She heaped on a different derogatory epithet each time she'd bring up little Chen.
    
      While I never thought Viktoriya would never be jealous of my dalliances as I could be more of hers, my dance-loving darling's comments did give me pause as I pondered who would've pinged me so strongly. It didn't feel like Viktoriya, although we could both send something fairly strong and brief without identifying ourselves in the process. That meant it had to be him.
    
      Tseng. What the hell did he want? As I sat wondering about the message, Shawn had come back with a cup of tap water. She saw me me holding Melanie's cup of crushed ice, my eyes staring at nothing in particular. She sat down beside me and proceeded to bump me out of my reverie.
    
      "Hello? Earth to Stanley?" Shawn put her hand gently on my shoulder. "Are you okay?"
    
      I nodded as I swapped drinks. "Thank you."
    
      "Geez," Shawn looked at me with worry, "If you're that tired, you should stay home and get some rest."
    
      Melanie puffed up her tiny chest and was about to say something, but I stopped her with a gentle touch on her arm.
    
      "I'm all right," I said. "Being cooped up in my room half the time is enough. C'mon, let's go to the monkey house --" I eyed Melanie "-- or whatever else you two want."
    
      "Pandas!" Melanie smiled brightly.
    
      Shawn grinned, as did I. She was a little more understanding with my different liaisons than Janet and Rachelle. Perhaps it was because she already knew I was slamming Rachelle and Janet before we got more intimate. The "other woman" already knew all the players but she (thankfully) wasn't jealous. I suppose that was what made our relationship work.
    
      It was near evening when I headed back home. I wanted to accompany Shawn back to her place, but she told me it wasn't necessary.
    
      "I'm a big girl now Stanley," she poked me in the ribs, just as she did when we were younger.
    
      I gave her a tender kiss on the forehead before I hopped off the bus with Melanie. I had to escort her home (likely on pain of death) as I had promised her folks I'd get her home safe and sound before dinner. Now that her family knew she was seeing a boy nearly seven years her senior, they wanted to take no chances; Melanie often had to be home before dark.
    
      For Yu-Ching, it was a mix of the good and bad. It was good that our relationship finally saw the light of day, although Melanie tread a very thin line when her mother and father pressed her for what intimate acts we may have done together. She held on fast and stuck to the story she and I concocted. It was a mix of fact and fiction: she had met me as a classmate of Andrew's, and started hanging around me to learn how to cook.
    
      After a few impromptu interviews, I got Andrew to cover our story. My innocent mother (who knew almost all of Andrew's friends) thought something fishy, but she eventually trusted my brother when he vouched for Melanie's story. Since my father was generally not home (or asleep) he came to know the situation only through my mother. He and I had "the talk" and realizing I had been dating Rachelle until recently, he asked what the hell was wrong with me.
    
      Luckily, O.J. Simpson provided a good fictitious reason. Rachelle and I both were in agreement in suspecting the fellow had a guilty conscience (or at least a lot of knowledge about what happened). However, the case was dividing L.A. (and the rest of the country) along racial lines. To those who bugged me about details of why we broke up, I simply hinted O.J.'s trial as a possible reason. After this, questions about Rachelle were confined to gutter talk and idle gossip.
    
      It worked out in the end. This shaky interim arrangement was the reason which allowed me to take both Melanie and Shawn out for some quiet time. Unfortunately, it was interrupted quite suddenly and rudely by that damned Tseng. When I got home, I finally deciphered the mind-message I was sent: I was to meet someone downtown, next week, sometime around morning (I cannot give the exact time and place for reasons soon to be evident).
    
      I silently cursed, because it was during one of my heaviest scheduled school days. I lay back in my tiny bed and wondered if I should go. What power did Tseng have anyway to interfere with my life? I decided to ignore it and concentrate on my studies. No sooner than I settled on that decision when a powerful thought-symbol came to me: 'No joke.' 'Be there.'
    
      I cringed and acquiesced to an unwanted invitation. I packed my usual, thinking it might be a brief meeting, before I went back to class. I hopped off the bus somewhere in downtown and began walking towards the building I was supposed to be at. Thankfully, I had not met Viktoriya that day. I found out later that I had just missed her by a few minutes.
    
      I soon found the place. It was a huge Federal building, full of clerks, administrators, and other bureaucratic types. I wondered what to do as I wandered into the lobby. Tseng came up silently behind me. I didn't know he was there until I heard him greet me. As I turned, I sensed more instructions tingling in my mind.
    
      'Do as I tell you Stanley Chen. We go into the lion's mouth now.'
    
      We shook hands and he chatted amicably about the weather, the traffic, and the lousy bus lines as he continued his thought-speak. I came to realize this was a ruse of some kind. Tseng wanted to show me something. Something that the 'normals' in the building (especially the ones armed with lethal weapons) had no knowledge of. He continued the tour in thought-speak.
    
      'I am going to introduce you to a NSA field director.'
    
      'The NSA?' I wondered as we swept past the security checkpoint to the elevators. 'Isn't that like the CIA or something?'
    
      'Something yes. But different.' Tseng pushed the elevator button, and asked aloud if I like coffee. I demurred with an audible reply.
    
      'NSA (National Security Agency) does not exist, much like we do not exist.' He continued showing me around with 'words' only I could hear. 'They conduct espionage on everyone. Spying. Listening. Eavesdropping.'
    
      Tseng looked at me. 'Make love to Chen Yu-Ching and they can hear it all.'
    
      A shock hit my body. What was going on? What was this all about?
    
      'It is not the girl you should worry about.' He thought-spoke. 'This easily transcends your indiscretions.'
    
      I felt my cheeks flush then realized it was foolish. Tseng and I were the only ones in the elevator. I had not hid my thoughts well.
    
      'Someone at the agency thinks you may be a handy asset.'
    
      "What?" I blurted aloud, breaking the physical silence between us.
    
      Tseng smiled but his attitude was cool. 'Stay silent. I told them you may be a -- as they term it -- talent.'
    
      'I thought we weren't supposed to say what we were!' I began casting about looking for a way out.
    
      'The empire is safe.' Tseng became thoughtful. 'But that fight you had back in school didn't escape notice.'
    
      'You lied.' I stared coldly at him. 'You told me you took care of that. The records I mean.'
    
      The elevator's doors opened and we stepped out. I didn't have much choice.
    
      'The official records yes.' Tseng seemed to utter a sigh. 'But you were reckless. Do you remember the girl in Utah?'
    
      It was my turn to be thoughtful. Finally, I replied. 'I think so.'
    
      'She was cattle of another citizen.' The old man stopped to drink at a water fountain.
    
      'Oops.' I didn't realize I had trespassed into another telepath's domain.
    
      'You were reckless.' Tseng repeated and resumed walking. 'But Lillian was both reckless and careless. From the faint telepathic imprint you left, she began looking through government databases for someone like you instead of going through more subtle channels.'
    
      'Government databases?' I asked as we shuffled down the hall at a slow pace. 'I don't get it. Who's Lillian?'
    
      'Someone you do not need to worry about.' His empty and hollow tone hinted at her fate.
    
      'So what now? You're going to shove me off the building?' I peered around and asked aloud, "How high are we?"
    
      "Seventy eight stories," Tseng answered in his tinny voice to my audible question. He fell back to thought-speech immediately.
    
      'If I wanted to kill you, I would have not approached you before witnesses. Now listen carefully.' We stopped at the end of the hall and Tseng knocked lightly on the door. 'Certain elements of the agency believe there are telepaths in the world. This, for all intents and purposes, will be true.'
    
      I eyed him warily as I examined the room we entered. Two men were immediately visible in the middle of the room. A suited man with short black, curly hair sat at one end of a plain metal prison table. The fellow's huge face and bulk were evident despite his sitting position. Tseng in the meantime, seemed to hurry along his briefing.
    
      'What they do not know, and SHOULD NOT KNOW,' he emphasized quickly with his thought-speech, 'Is how many of us there are; that we are organized; that we know probably more than they know.'
    
      Jesus Christ, I thought. This was turning out to be quite a day.
    
      The big fellow looked like he could've stood twice as tall as I when standing. The second man was not nattily dressed. I suppressed a smile. That was the word Janet had used when she wanted to remake my wardrobe after things had come to a head. Nattily. Ha-hah. But enough of that; I pushed that memory away and focused on the second man. The first man, I knew, was with NSA.
    
      'Should even a hint of the empire escape your lips,' Tseng motioned to the big agency man. 'He, you, and everyone else on this floor will be killed by me. No one will escape alive. Think of your darling women, before you say anything foolish.'
    
      'If I am not sure?' I wondered.
    
      'Then ask.' Tseng's mind-tone was annoyed but firm. 'I am right here, Stanley. Keep your questions to me on our level and only write your answers out to them; don't speak unless you need to. They can collect your DNA from your spit. Think before you ask.'
    
      I chilled inwardly but did not express it. It was the same life lesson my mother had imparted to me daily until I reached middle school. Tseng must've dug that out from my memories of old.
    
      I examined the second man. He was wearing a sloppy shirt, ripped jeans, and if he hadn't stank terribly, I would've been at least more amicable. I couldn't see much of his face, since he wore a black blindfold. Duct tape was wound tightly around his blindfold and his hands were cuffed behind the back of the chair. His mouth was gagged as well.
    
      The room looked empty and dark, but I immediately sensed that there were more people apart from the two men, Tseng, and myself in the room. Armed men. I could sense their thoughts: danger, weapons at the ready, a danger in the room. But what was the danger? Was it the restrained man or me? I could not tell.
    
      The burly agent stood and extended a hand toward Tseng. It was then I noticed Tseng wore black leather gloves on both hands. He had not bothered in our meetings before, but neither did he shake my hand. It must be the physical contact, I realized.
    
      Tseng and the NSA man shook once. The agent towered over Tseng, but size meant little. I knew Tseng would keep his word with his threat. I extended my hand towards the big man, but he sat down without taking it; Tseng gently slapped my arm down.
    
      Fuck, I blinked. These guys knew! Or Tseng must've told them. I broke into a sweat, trying to figure what lame brained excuses I need to come up with. My abilities, my applications of them, and the girls I had been mixing company with. I soured as I noticed that the big man passed a slip of paper towards Tseng and me.
    
      The note read: SORRY ABOUT THE HANDSHAKE, BUT YOUR FRIEND HAD WARNED US IT COULD BE DANGEROUS. MY NAME IS BRIAN COX.
    
      Brian Cox. No identifying agency, no title. All hush-hush. A pencil came across with a blank notepad. I flicked my eyes at the imprisoned man then at Cox. He put a finger to his lips. I glanced at Tseng and heard his instructions.
    
      'Go introduce yourself, Stanley. The man needs at least a first name to call you by.'
    
      I began writing on the pad and Tseng continued: 'Remember they can run your fingerprints through CODIS or any of the local hospitals and find out who you are. If you weren't in a database, they will have your prints if you don't take what you touch.'
    
      I wrote in block-print: MY NAME IS STANLEY.
    
      Then as if to keep my identity a secret, I kept my pencil and held the pad up so Cox could read it, but not keep the paper pad. Another suited man stepped out of the shaows and placed a second notepad and pencil in front of Cox. He scribbled for a little while and held up his pad.
    
      He had written: TSK-TSK. TSENG JUST TOLD YOU ABOUT THE FINGERPRINTS NO? HA-HA. WE NEED YOU TO READ THIS GUY'S MIND. CAN YOU DO THAT?
    
      I squinted at the pad, my eyes working over time. Cox had lousy hand-writing. I repressed a natural desire to take Cox's pad and hold it close to my face. That meant leaving DNA everywhere.
    
      I pointed to the blind-folded hick and Cox nodded. I stood, careful that I didn't touch the table, and using a handkerchief Janet had gifted me one year to wipe down the spots I placed my hand on my chair. Cox knitted his brow as he watched me try to frustrate him and the agency.
    
      Not that it would matter, I thought glumly. He could just tail me and get my address. Heck, I couldn't even stop a fifteen year-old high school girl (Shawn Ellen!) from from digging up my locator card, or her friend (Ashley, that bitch!) from spying on me, what chance did I have against a government agency that focused on spying?
    
      I walked next to the restrained man and he seemed to sense I was there. He craned his head around, trying to find out what was going on. He tried to struggle but I could see how his arms and legs were retrained to the chair, and the chair was chained tightly to hooks embedded in the carpeted floor.
    
      Up 'til now I had only read the mind of close friends, family and girls who interested me. I hadn't read the mind of a stranger yet, so I was anxious. Tseng seemed to have sensed it too because he thought-spoke one final bit of advice.
    
      'Just grab his surface thoughts Stanley. Don't dig deep. You won't expose your identity if you keep it brief. We don't want to tip our hand.'
    
      Actually, I didn't even need to touch the man to read him, but I sensed that Cox was wondering how I would handle things. So, why not put on a show? I had read most of the man's identity, his address, his current thoughts already, so I didn't need to do more. However, I brushed my fingertip against the man's grimy forehead as if I needed to do that for my gifts to work. He quickly snapped his head around, straining violently against his restraints. I jumped back with a shout and in an instant, I saw four more suited men, each armed with mean looking machinepistols level their weapons at us.
    
      "Don't move," one of them said.
    
      I wasn't sure if he meant me or the prisoner until the bound man sagged and remained still. I breathed a little easier then. All this time, Tseng didn't move an inch but Cox had raised his hands, keeping order. He glanced at me and held up his pad.
    
      ARE YOU OKAY?
    
      I quickly (but neatly) wrote on my pad: HIS NAME IS JACKSON DAVIES ...
    
      I wrote out almost every facet of the man's life from the mind scan I performed, right down to the guy's social security number, date of birth, and the last four addresses he lived at. Cox read my pad, glanced at the prisoner, and brought out his mobile phone. He speed-dialed a number, the tones beeped too fast for me to tell what for, and the next thing I knew, a thin, sandy haired fellow stepped out from the shadows.
    
      Strange, I thought. I hadn't sensed him in the room before. The newcomer shifted his gaze from Cox then to me and lastly settled on Tseng. Instantly, I felt the anger and loathing.
    
      "What's he doing here?" he asked. I noticed how relatively young he was. He appeared to be a few years older than Janet.
    
      "How's the foot?" Tseng spoke aloud. He sounded smug. Hell, he looked smug. I flicked my eyes from him to the newcomer. I kept silent, unsure of what I had walked into.
    
      "How's the pet?" the newcomer sneered.
    
      Tseng's face twitched but he didn't move. I knew if he wanted to, he could've killed anyone else who was that insolent. Cox motioned towards Tseng and he stood to leave. Tseng bade me to follow and I did. We both headed outside and shut the door behind us.
    
      "Tell me what the hell just happened," I asked once we were in the elevator.
    
      "Later." Tseng kept silent through the lift ride down to the building parking lot. He showed me to his car, a Volvo sedan painted in a glossy jet black.
    
      "You need a ride back to school, yes?" he asked.
    
      I nodded and got in.
    
      "That was Brian Cox," Tseng spoke once we were both in his car. He removed his gloves and started the car, "And it's generally a safe thing to keep quiet in the presence of the agency."
    
      "What the hell was all that?" I asked. "That last guy didn't seem to happy to see you."
    
      "That was David Reese," Tseng said simply. "If you see him again, pay attention to his right foot."
    
      "His foot?" I wrestled my oversized backpack onto my lap. "How come?"
    
      "Because it's a prosthetic."
    
      "Oh." If my curiosity was evident, Tseng took no notice. He did explain that Brian Cox had contacted him about me. Cox had asked Tseng if I, Stanley Chen, was a telepath, and seeing no real out, decided to sic the agency on me.
    
      "It is a calculated risk you understand," Tseng explained, "To reveal just enough to shake them from the rest of the empire."
    
      "Won't we get into trouble for this?" I asked. "What about other telepaths?"
    
      "They should be so content," Tseng snapped unkindly. "They will not have to deal with issues you will eventually face."
    
      "Why me?" I whined, "What'd I do that anyone else wouldn't have?"
    
      "You're disruptive to be sure," Tseng kept talking but his attention was focused solely on the road, "But you also have integrity."
    
      "What?"
    
      "Integrity," Tseng went on. "Do you know what generally happens when a boy your age gets his gifts?"
    
      I stalled for an answer. "Uh ... no?"
    
      "He proceeds to mind-wipe every female he sees to satisfy his immediate lusts. Teachers, students, girls ---" Tseng gave me a sharp mental "prick" as if to say: Pay attention!
    
      "In some cases," he continued, "They start incestuous relationships with their mothers and sisters then cascade it to their daughters and granddaughters."
    
      I stayed silent but my mind kept churning. I wanted to ask Tseng more, like what he meant by keeping his presence unknown to Melanie and Viktoriya.
    
      "It simply is unsustainable," Tseng said coldly. "Imagine a man with no training apart from using his mind to sate his basest desires. All of his women -- or in some cases -- other men, enslaving themselves to his whim. The Russian --" Tseng had mentioned his mysterious adversary when we first met, "-- promoted this idea. It lead to pogroms and many deaths."
    
      "So why me?" I asked.
    
      "You Stanley," Tseng answered simply, "Don't press your gifts."
    
      "How do you mean?"
    
      "You do not wholly impose your will on them," he explained. "You do your best to persuade them but ultimately, you give them a choice to stay or go, as they want."
    
      "Tell that to Melanie." I said it aloud before I knew it.
    
      "She is loyal to you," he said, "So long as you give her joy."
    
      "Speaking of Melanie," I pressed for an answer, "Why don't you want her or Viktoriya to know about you?"
    
      The man's response was sly. "It would be best not to; you might find things difficult."
    
      "What can be more difficult than working with the NSA?"
    
      Tseng didn't answer, and his mind was blank to me. I had to remain satisfied with an answer I may never know. We arrived at City College and he stopped the car at the bus station at the corner.
    
      "I will speak to Cox about you," Tseng said. "The fool has it in his mind to create some talent-laden team of operatives like a goddamned Saturday morning cartoon or comic strip."
    
      "You mean like the X-men?" I asked, "Or the Justice League?"
    
      "Yes, if you think of it like that," Tseng registered disgust. "But don't get too ahead of yourself. This isn't fiction."
    
      "Is it safe?" I wondered aloud.
    
      "Is it safe to subject your will to the whims and desires of another with no interest in your welfare?"
    
      I sat, lost in thought long enough for Tseng to answer rhetorically.
    
      "You and I have vested interest in our empire, because we are part of it," he said slowly. "Why should we enthrall ourselves to others when we have the power?"
    
      "How'd you know Cox?" I asked.
    
      "It was not mutual," Tseng said simply. "And it was before your time."
    
      I was ready to exit the car when he interrupted me.
    
      "Wait," he said. "Open the glove compartment."
    
      I did and found a small red tin with its top etched with the design of a traditional Chinese red envelope. Red envelopes or red packets were used to contain paper money, which were then given to honored guests and close family and friends during festivals, important dates, and Lunar New Years.
    
      "What's this?" I asked. The tin felt very heavy.
    
      "This is only fair," Tseng said. "I asked you to reveal yourself to the agency. You should be recompensed for your trouble. Take it."
    
      I pulled off the tin's lid and my eyes bugged out. "Holy shit."
    
      "It's bad form to do that," Tseng sounded annoyed but he was practical about it. Like me, he knew of tradition, but didn't hold it as dogma. "Fifteen thousand U.S. One hundred-fifty $100 bills. Clean, sequential, and, for you, legitimate."
    
      "Uh, thanks?"
    
      I was astounded. $15,000 for a quick meeting and me doing something I didn't need school for? Quick! Where do I sign up? If I was making dough from just mind-scanning, why was I in school? I closed the lid, got out of the car, and Tseng drove off without a word.
    
    ===============================================================================
      INTERLUDE -- A NEW UNIVERSITY
    ===============================================================================
    
      After two years of community college, I was ready to transfer to a new university to finish my undergraduate degrees. Transferring college credits from one to another was a bureaucratic nightmare then as it is today. A school would require classes to fulfill its own program requirements that would not be transferrable to a different school (which imposed its own class regimen).
    
      It didn't help as I attempted this business around the time Affirmative Action in the state of California was being slowly withdrawn. All this because Affirmative Action had led to "reverse discrimination" where students of Asian descent began overtaking students of other ethnicities in CTBS and SAT test scores and taking up valuable openings in prestigious schools, especially in the University of California.
    
      I had completed nearly 160 units of college work in order to transfer 120 of them to my new digs: Viktoriya's school. The Berkeley campus at the University of California was indeed the home of a lot of kooks, radicals, and crackpots, but it was also a campus that was close to home. Attending school out of state was out of the question for the Brothers Chen; it was either a school in the state or awards or scholarships, but neither Andrew or I earned high enough points for either privilege.
    
      Janet's family was rich so she was able to go to Chicago for school. When she opted to continue her education, she was smart enough to win scholarships for the college of her choice (Stanford or UCLA). I wasn't sure how Rachelle's family could send her to live and study down in Los Angeles, but I suppose she, Ghandia, and Heidi had worked something out. They were, after all, the best of friends.
    
      Ghandia was at UCLA keeping Rachelle company whereas Heidi was in San Diego (or Irvine, I forget which). Faraz stuck to State University and got a fruitful internship at a trading firm working the Pacific Stock Exchange. This he was able to parlay to a position working with another company at the New York Stock Exchange.
    
      But back to lil' old me. Well, me and Viktoriya.
    
      It was happy coincidence that she and I now often commuted together on the same train after my transfer. I never realized it 'til recently, but she had a deep seated fear we'd never see one another again. Since we started classes around the same time, we generally caught the same train to campus. Sometimes we'd miss one another (but not often) since there was some leeway in our schedules.
    
      Half the time we'd be on the same bus as well. We didn't need to share seats on a bus to enjoy our company, not with our constant mind-chatter, but during the longer train ride, we'd slump against each other and catch a few more minutes of sleep. Viktoriya would bid me goodbye at the south entrance of campus and go off on her own.
    
      Unfortunately, I generally could not ride back with Viktoriya, as I was pursuing some extra course work. This extended my schedule late into the night and left me with little choice but to pack a whole day's worth of food along with clothing, books, and supplies. I was simply a pack mule. Every day, I marched uphill across the campus. I was tuckered out physically and mentally, so much so that I often became curt and terse in my communication. Not even Melanie could abide my presence after a while; she learned to tip-toe around me when I could tolerate her visits.
    
      Here at Berkeley, the workload intensified to a level I wasn't accustomed to. Viktoriya's pragmatism and single-minded dedication saved me. When I was horny, I'd contact her by thought-speak or mind-sight. She'd knew to meet me for lunch and jerk me off; on her days off, she would stretch and dance nude in her room (or clothed in the studio) and let me watch her with mind-sight. I got the distinct feeling she liked being watched.
    
      As for herself, Viktoriya simply used a technique I recognized: masturbation. Unlike a 'normal' woman though, she was able to "roll" her gift inside her vaginal cavity. While fingering her clit, she was able to stroke her Grafenberg spot with telekinesis. She was able to cum in nearly any position, though she confided she favored sitting down.
    
      So whenever she'd get that glassy-eyed look while sitting on the train or bus, it was basically Viktoriya jerking off in public. I doubted any 'normal' could beat that.
    
      I wasn't so daring; I just wanted more sleep. I slept when I could, but the amount of work from my design studios was compounded when I took extra computer and electrical and mechanical engineering courses to achieve my choice of a major and minor. I was operating on nearly 17+ units of work each semester and completely wiped out.
    
      The summer months no longer meant I had time for my darlings. While I had been taking summer classes before, I did not take the maximum allowed until after my transfer. In my rampant pursuit of two majors, I was working myself dead tired. While I was physically exhausted, I was still mentally alert so I eschewed vacation. Summer courses were great for knocking out my general education requirements.
    
      Everyone's reaction was mixed: my parents were delighted, although it was an extra expense for them. Faraz was too busy working at his father's service station to do much else but spend what little time he could with Ghandia. He did sound impressed enough to encourage me. Rachelle reluctantly understood and began seeing more of Craig.
    
      Viktoriya knew what I was up to without me physically telling her. Our mind-sight and thought-speak were more useful when communicating and our understanding went beyond spoken words. In fact, she wanted to finish school as fast as I so she could graduate to advance studies in dance.
    
      Janet was as busy as the other two girls; her acceptance into law school and a part-time position at the San Francisco City and County civil court kept her busy. Nonetheless, she was proud of me, and let me know of it despite her frantic schedule.
    
      Shawn and Melanie were two different types of disappointment: Shawn grew miffed at my absences and went out with Scott from the paper a few times; it was to rile jealousy in me that I didn't foster. We did make up eventually; I saw her when I could, and attended to her at her Winter Ball and several other dances (including both her junior and senior proms). Scott eventually dated (of all people) Ashley.
    
      Then one weekend, Shawn Ellen helped me with a project on-campus when I needed an extra pair of hands in a studio; it was pretty eye-opening for her. So much so, she decided on pursuing systems engineering at San Jose State. As for her friend Ashley, they pretty much grew apart. I heard nothing of Ashley from Shawn once I left for college; I could only assume Shawn and she kept in touch intermittently afterwards.
    
      Melanie was a little more troublesome, and she doted on me. She was eager to spend her summer with me, until I begged off, feigning illness. However, my mental defences proved fairly ineffective against my little darling. All I did was piss her off. Little Chen did not appreciate it that I was lying to her face. She made me her pet project, and began showing up with little dishes of dumplings or soup or other food she cooked. To placate her, I ate what I could and packed the leftovers for lunch.
    
      My little darling picked up what I was doing and began adapting to my schedule. Since I ate my food cold or at room temperature, Melanie would make two different meals. I finally devoted a few hours each weekend to do grocery shopping with her. We'd come back to my place and we'd learn to cook; what I didn't take along or kept, Melanie took home.
    
      Her parents got curious about her activities, and I was eventually forced to tell them what we were doing -- well, I told them a sanitized version of what we were doing. Thankfully, they were accepting of me and my interest in their only daughter. The Chens were traditionalists (which could have explained their emigration from China) and were copacetic in betrothing her to a determined, and up and coming, fellow like myself.
    
      Mrs. Chen (Melanie's mother not mine) also didn't look too bad herself. Oh she had a few dings here and there, but she wasn't ugly. I silently thanked the powers that be; Melanie would probably look like her in 30-some years.
    
      Despite the combined affection of my darlings, by the time of my graduation in 1997, I was a gaunt, hollowed fellow with two degrees: environmental design (useless without the Master's degree in design) and computer science as a minor. I hadn't achieved my lofty goal of making killer robot houses yet, and I felt I had yet a long way to go.
    
      Still, drafting and modeling on a computer the rest of my life wasn't something I envisioned doing, even if it paid a ton of money. I was at a loss of what to do next when my parents decided to send me on a little trip abroad.
    
    ===============================================================================
      HONG KONG HONEY
    ===============================================================================
    
      I had literally sequestered myself for four straight years in a routine that even precluded me from every activity save practicing my gifts on a reduced basis, I was "awarded" with a much deserved trip to Hong Kong to celebrate my graduation. I would've very much liked to have celebrated by proposing to Janet instead. But with my choice of graduate schools in limbo and my deteriorated health, I understood the need for a vacation.
    
      As it turned out, it wasn't all free. There was a price to pay: my family was coming along. It was akin to the family trips we had taken years before, except now I was going to be as harried and stressed out in a different country. That year was a little different as well, as it was 1997. Hong Kong was preparing for its celebration for transferring itself from the British Empire back to the government in Peking.
    
      My father had managed to mix business with pleasure by taking my grandmother along. He wanted to witness the hand-over ceremony personally but chaperoned his mother to make sure she was okay. My grandmother was a vindictive woman. She was apparently one of the causes for my parents' estrangement when I was younger. However, her time was nearing its end. She wanted to visit family before she kicked the bucket.
    
      My mother of course, had other plans. Her family was better off than my father's, and she intended to stay with her family in Kowloon. This of course, left Andrew and me to decide whom to stay with. It was very much like the separation before Andrew was born, and I did not like it one bit. Andrew was closer to mother, so he opted to stay with her.
    
      I was plain disgusted with how the trip was turning out; I had thought my vacation would be off to a good start. Apart from being able to attend Viktoriya's graduation as a "close friend" (her parents were thankfully ignorant to what we had been doing, once even on their bed), Faraz had told me he made plans to propose to Ghandia once I got back from Hong Kong.
    
      It was good news. Good enough that Rachelle called me once the rumor started going around. That night, Faraz and I had plenty of drink and smoked our last cigarettes.
    
      "I tell Ghandia I quit," he said in his clipped English. "I make good on my promise now."
    
      I crushed my pack in support and we caroused like brothers. I barely managed to make it home in time to catch the shuttle to the airport. Both of my parents were not too happy about my condition, but understood my intent. So, why didn't my parents understand one another?
    
      Aunt Hortense came to the rescue. Hortense was my mother's half-sister. My grandfather was what one would call a bigamist, although it was not outlawed in the British colonies. Aunt Hortense was a spinster and lived alone in a high-rise condo (the standard residence in Hong Kong). Since she lived alone, other relatives often dropped by to visit and to use her condo instead of staying at a hotel. That was exactly what I would be doing, except Aunt Hortense was freely offering to lodge me.
    
      So it was decided: my father stayed with his mother in Hong Kong, my mother and Andrew with other family in Kowloon, and I with Aunt Hortense. Normally, everyone would be able to stay in one place or another,  but there was another reason why my aunt couldn't take in more guests, and her name was Aurora Kwong.
    
      In the West, she was what you'd call a "first cousin" (more specifically half-first-cousin since she was descended from my other maternal grandmother, but we discount that in our genealogy). However, in China, where the surname is the only thing that mattered (not necessarily genealogical lineage), Aurora was my bieu-mui (or bieu-jie, if she was older, but she wasn't) and not my tong-mui (or tong-jie, again if she had been older than me).
    
      Being my "bieu-sibling" meant essentially that she did not share my family name of Chen.** That also meant if we were so inclined, we could've married (legally) in Hong Kong and marked her off as my spouse on my income tax form.
    
      [** AUTHOR'S NOTE: Careful readers will no doubt have noticed that Melanie and I appear to share the same last name, 'Chen'. This is simple coincidence in the Anglicized spelling. In Melanie's case, her last name is homonymous with the word 'full on' or 'complete' but means something else (and drawn differently, you'd have to ask her). Some families have opted to spell it as "Jun" or "Chun". My family's last name is homonymous with 'dust'; in fact, it is simply an anthropomorphized version of the same character. To Western ears, it would be unseemly for a man and woman to marry with the same last names, but in our system, our last names clearly mark us from different families, so we wouldn't have babies with two heads.]
    
      Despite my weariness from my long flight and my parents' vacuous argument, I admired her figure as I stumbled wearily into Aunt Hortense's condo. Aurora had arrived a few days earlier, on a sight-seeing vacation of her own (she had just graduated high school) but was coerced into staying with my Aunt Hortense by her father (who was Hortense's older full brother) since she was not chaperoned.
    
      That turned out to be a poor decision by Uncle William. Aurora was slim and spry. Her skin was olive and glossy from sweat in the hot Hong Kong night. Long jet-black hair came down to her ass, like a smooth satin scarf. Her years spent living in New Jersey had made her into an "East Coast" American, but nonetheless Cantonese when it came to family. I barely noticed her dark sloe-eyes following me as I acknowledged her.
    
      I dropped my luggage off in the second guest room but came back out to say goodnight. It was 5 p.m. local time, but 3 a.m. my time. I was running on fumes and nodding off. I exchanged simple pleasantries with Aurora and Aunt Hortense then sought to retire. By sheer accident, I shook the girl's hand first. I should've remained fully awake and in full control of my psychic faculties until I was alone, but I was honestly half asleep.
    
      Before I knew it, I had let slip to Aurora's mind what I wanted to do with her small mouth. My bieu-mui's eyes went wide and I quickly kicked my mental discipline into high gear. Never had I snapped awake so suddenly to regain control of my overflowing id. Aurora quickly excused herself to the washroom after shaking my hand. Thankfully, I was in full control of my faculties when I bade my Aunt Hortense a goodnight. Already worn from my studies, my trip, and my accidental "slip-up", I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.
    
      If you've been to Florida or the Caribbean in the summer, when the days are hot and the nights are muggy and hot, you've pretty much discovered Hong Kong (except Florida has lots of old white people instead of old Chinese people). Everyone wore short sleeves and shorts when possible, and since the climate conditions are near constant (hot and humid or hot and dry) people have learned to use air-conditioning or fans non-stop. If you went out into a rainstorm during the day, you wouldn't feel a chill; the raindrops felt just a shade cooler than your body temperature.
    
      The heat was the principal reason (aside from the overcrowding in the residential buildings) that people in Hong Kong bring their daily lives into the streets, recreation centers, or shopping malls. The presence of industrial strength air-conditioning in those facilities were the bait to lure consumers. All this of course, eats up a ton of dough, hence most inhabitants are constantly on a go-go-go attitude with profit-making and making senseless comparisons of material wealth: clothing, mobile phones, jewelry, servants, and what-have-you, all for the sakes of profit and progress.
    
      Initially, I was led around by family to meet distant relatives: uncles, aunts, cousins, grand-uncles and aunts, grandparents, old household servants (who became friends), close co-workers, and friends of friends. Intermixed between all these visits were short, impromptu tours of odds and ends: Buddhist temples, art galleries, Taoist shrines, museums of science and technology, Ocean Park, landmark buildings, Victoria Harbor, Admirality, and Tsim Sha Tsui (this was before Sumjun became developed).
    
      Aurora went along the first two days after my arrival (she hadn't gotten around much) and it was convenient for her to ride along in the same cab or car. By day three though, Aurora said she had made plans to tour a little on the mainland, dai-luk* [* Cantonese: Big Green; a moniker for mainland China.], which was cause for some concern.
    
      Uncle Bill definitely had not allowed for it, although he was simply passing responsibility to his sister Hortense. Both Aunt Hortense and my mother didn't think it was a good idea. Aurora was unhappy but refused to change her mind.
    
      "It's only sam-yut-liang-man*!" [* Cantonese: Three days, two nights.]
    
      She was practically shouting. Aurora wasn't very demure in some instances.
    
      "No," Aunt Hortense was firm, her English having the clip of a British nanny. "Your father said no and I promised him to keep you safe."
    
      "You can go with me," Aurora begged. "I'll even treat you!"
    
      "wo-yiu-fan-kung Kwong-xiao-jie*," [* Cantonese: I need to go to work Miss Kwong-as-lady-of-the-house (sarcasm).] Hortense said acidly. "Plus, I already took vacation to keep you company."
    
      "How about you auntie?" Aurora implored my mother.
    
      "I came to see grand-ma-ma and keep my family company. And it is storm season," my mother was just as firm. "What if something should happen to you? What do we say to your parents?"
    
      Aurora wasn't about to give up so easily.
    
      "Stanley bieu-guo*!" My cousin brightened. "He can chaperone me!" [* Cantonese: Older male cousin who is not of the same surname.]
    
      "What?" I nearly walked into the door of my room. That was the first I heard of it.
    
      Both mother and Aunt Hortense treated Aurora like a little kid, but she was clearly not taking no for an answer. She had signed up the first chance she got and joined a tour. After a few minutes of arguing, my mother took me aside and asked me if I wanted to go. I wasn't adventuresome, but I was feeling tired of having people push me around. I was also apprehensive. The handover was to occur in the next few days. If there was violence, I didn't want to be there.
    
      But lastly, there was something about Aurora's suggestion struck me as an opportunity. After a minute or so of hesitation, I accepted. I quickly packed a few days' worth of clothing and as many changes of underwear I could carry. I wish I could've brought more, but I couldn't fit it all in.
    
      The next day, Aurora and I found ourselves at a bus station in Hong Kong. The tour was a trashy affair, but the bus was cushy and comfortable. It was air-conditioned so well, I felt cold the first time since I arrived. Aurora was so excited, she didn't feel it. She offered her coat and, having little choice, I took it.
    
      "Thanks for coming, Stanley." She finally got settled in her seat long enough to hold a conversation.
    
      "Yeah don't mention it." I felt my eyes droop. It wasn't that late, but I had yet to acclimatize myself to the local time.
    
      "You haven't 'kowed-jung*' huh?" Aurora patted my hand. [* Cantonese: Adjusted your internal body clock to the local time zone.]
    
      I chuckled and shook my head. I wanted to just lay back and take a nap.
    
      "Wake me when we get there okay?" I yawned. "We don't want to get separated."
    
      "We won't," she said. Then, "I'll wake you."
    
      I caught about a minute of sleep before someone was shaking me awake.
    
      "Stanley? Stanley! Stanley!!"
    
      I snapped awake, bleary-eyes and a little disoriented.
    
      "What? What is it?" Had we arrived already?
    
      "Look!" she pointed.
    
      I followed Aurora's finger and saw that our bus was chugging up a rough hill. Past the window, the big green expanse of China's coastal fields were marred by the new construction of urban dwellings on its shores. The grasses that weren't cut were pressed flat to the ground by the wind.
    
      "Lovely," I settled back.
    
      I dared a glance at Aurora and saw her eyes shining with joy as she took in the breadth and depth of our ancestral home. It was now I had a private moment to inspect my cousin closely. She was a thin, delicate little thing; clearly she took after her mother (who was also very petite) and not my Uncle Bill. Her jet black hair was so long, she had swept it forward, over one of her bare shoulders so it rested on her lap.
    
      My eyes followed her skinny arms and noticed that she was clutching her hands together. I peeked into her mind quickly and sensed her body starting to feel cold.
    
      Silly girl, I shrugged off the coat she had gallantly given me. I startled Aurora a bit when I draped the coat back over her bare shoulders. She turned her head and saw what I was doing.
    
      "Aren't you cold?" she asked me.
    
      "I'll manage," I said with bravado.
    
      "Don't be a dummy," Aurora batted her eyes at me. "I can warm up by resting against the window."
    
      I reached over to feel the window and found it was sizzling. When I drew back, my skin was red but there weren't blisters.
    
      "You didn't have to to that," my cousin winced. "Are you okay?"
    
      "Yeah," I scratched my hand. "Just keep the coat. Shouldn't be too long right?"
    
      "Well," she tugged the coat slighty. "Okay."
    
      The bus ride was just a little longer than I expected. Aurora and I chatted in low voices. We talked about school, or her upcoming life in college. I didn't think I had much to talk about, but my cousin was inquisitive and bugged me as incessantly as Melanie would. I learned she was studying business or law and had not nary a clue of what she might wind up doing. I didn't have much faith in system-savvy architecture, but I told her about my area of study.
    
      Before we knew it, it was almost dark. We didn't disembark until early evening (late afternoon) and found that all the clocks in China shared the same time as Peking. Hence, the first day of our tour was pretty much set. We'd be able to spend a day in the city then be ready to go back to our folks the day after. That was tour she had signed up for. I shook my head. Stupid girl. What a waste of time.
    
      Aurora seemed to realize that and made an effort not to waste any of it. Once we arrived at the hotel, she threw down her bag and almost dashed out the door. I stopped her just before she cleared the threshold. I took as many travel precautions (hiding money, securing our passports, etc.) as I could before stepping out with her. The tour was going to take the group around the city the next day, but there was (fortunately) a way to opt out; so long as we were at the hotel lobby on the third day, we'd be picked up and accounted for.
    
      That suited my lovely cousin just fine. Aurora impatiently dragged me through as many stalls and shops as she could find. There was a light drizzle and a moderate wind, but it didn't faze either of us. She'd poke her pretty head into street stalls and sidewalk vendors to check out their wares. We tried different bites of food, about a hundred different pieces tacky jewelry (well, Aurora did anyway), scores of hats and sunglasses, and eye-balled about a hundred more knick-knacks and tourist trophies. My cousin also took plenty of pictures with her digital camera.
    
      By midnight, we were spent. I never realized that vacations could tire me out. I slumbered rather late and didn't get up until noon the next day. I found Aurora up and moping by the window.
    
      "I'd thought you'd be out already." I stopped my kidding around when I heard the deep rumbling of wind outside the room. I peered outside and there seemed to be a sudden squall off the coast.
    
      "I think it's a tropical storm," Aurora said glumly. "Both auntie Hortense and Aileen (my mother) were right."
    
      "Ah don't worry," I stood beside her. "Hungry?"
    
      "Not really," she replied lazily.
    
      I rose and brushed my fingertips across her bare shoulder. I felt a slight tingle and heard her expel breath. I felt her mind, sensed her frustration and lack of a suitable outlet. Aurora had boundless energy, but had no method to expend it. I peeked a little deeper into her. It was not so much that she'd realize I was intruding but just enough to I could get a more in-depth look of my cousin.
    
      Aurora was the oldest in a family of two children. Like me, she had a younger brother (Daryl) who was a shade younger than Andrew. She had attended private schools that my Uncle William and his wife (Regina) could afford. Growing up in the upper-classed districts of New Jersey, Aurora was pampered but had a taste for excitement. Bad boys, minor substance abuse, and breaking curfew were as far as she'd dare go; risking any more would've meant ignoble expulsion from the family, or even incarceration. My cousin wanted thrills but she wasn't foolish.
    
      That last personal fact shed light on another part of Aurora. No risk meant abstinence. Aurora was as smart as Janet, but hadn't gone the route of masturbation. It surprised me a little, since it seemed the most natural course to follow. A lithe, pretty, and petite Chinese virgin was in the room with me and all I could do was stand stupidly behind her wondering about food. It reminded me of the silly thoughts I had when entertaining Janet or Melanie.
    
      Unconsciously, I began to treat my lovely cousin like one of my cherished darlings. Aurora's body shuddered as I traced my fingers from her shoulders to the base of her delicate, swan-like neck.
    
      "Oh ... my ... gawd," Aurora turned to look up at me. "What the hell was that?!"
    
      "Sorry," I drew back with an apologetic look. "You just remind me of a girl I know."
    
      "Fer'Chrissakes," she scowled and hid her body under her hooded sweatshirt, "I'm your cousin -- ugh!!"
    
      "Sorry," I sought to change the subject. "Let's go and grab some food okay?"
    
      Aurora didn't utter a word as she shuffled by me. At least she didn't get physical, I thought. Hah! I probably would've clocked her, or worse. Thankfully, neither of us did anything foolish during the entire ride. She looked at the ground as we rode the elevator down in silence. I chanced a glance at Aurora. Her hands were shoved deep into her pockets and the sweatshirt covered her body. Only her legs showed as she was wearing shorts.
    
      I wondered if she would confront my mother and tell? I sighed inwardly. I needed to work on her; maybe brain-blast her while she slept. It would be good practice. Otherwise, I might well catch hell from my family.
    
      We walked out of the hotel and wandered the streets. Aurora had said nothing to me since the room and I was a little curious about what she was planning to do. I skimmed her mind carefully as we stepped into a noodle and barbeque shop. I found Aurora was a little turned off from my half-hearted attempt to cop a feel, but at the same time, she kept dwelling on it. I knew it had felt good; Janet had taught me how to tease a girl in just the right spots.
    
      "Two?" a waiter pointed haphazardly at a table.
    
      Despite her anger, I stood and seated her. Aurora ignored my invitation and sat herself without another word. I grinned and sat as she glared back. I did my best to ignore her, wiping the teacups and utensils on a napkin. She broke her angry silence after I poured filled her teacup.
    
      "Thanks," she muttered.
    
      "Still angry?" I asked matter-of-factly.
    
      "You shouldn't have touched me like that," Aurora said flatly. "Even if I look like a girl you dated."
    
      "Well, now that I can see you in better light," I guffawed gently and watched her puff up her chest. "You're a helluva lot prettier."
    
      I didn't specify who -- my Lady Chen or Lady Wu -- but Aurora dipped her eyes once those words passed my lips. I saw her cheeks blush and sensed her body heat rise.
    
      "Well," she said with quiet reserve, "Don't do that again."
    
      "Fine and forgotten," I shrugged curtly. "Can we order now?"
    
      We ordered noodles, porridge, and a dish of roast duck. Anticipating the incoming storm, I ordered an extra two pounds of barbequed lean pork (sliced). I yanked Aurora along to a fruit stand and bought some barely ripe bananas and some oranges. The hotel would have enough liquor and bottled water in case of any emergency. The mini-fridge in the room was working, so I put the pork and oranges inside then left the bananas on top for them to ripen.
    
      By then, Aurora seemed to have escaped her gloom and we headed around the rain slick city, taking in as many sights as we could before the weather forced us indoors. She appeared to have forgotten my earlier trespass, but I could sense she was still dwelling on it. Every time she would look at me, I felt her doubt surface. To be truthful, Janet was on my mind when I was alone with Aurora.
    
      My lovely Lady Wu was so influential in my life, I had always placed her on a pedestal. The thought of a younger, hotter version of Janet just inches from my body was driving me wild. Aurora was indeed more beautiful than Janet, but there was something more regal and refined about my First. Aurora was like an unpolished gem; nice to look at and something to wonder how'd it would turn out once a jeweler got through it.
    
      There was still light out when we headed back to the hotel on our second day of the tour. The weather was getting chilly, and the rain pretty much soaked everything. Aurora and I were soaked through, and to prevent catching pneumonia, we had to get out of our wet clothes. I didn't want to spook her again, so I urged her to change first. Aurora quickly leaped at the chance to use the washroom.
    
      My cousin was thoughtfully quick; when she hopped out of the shower, she wore only a towel to maintain the barest level of modesty. She found me organizing my bags and other stuff. I was glad she left the bathroom free; I wanted to take a nice long shower. As I cleaned my crotch and ground, my dick rose slowly to attention. It had been a little while since I had gotten my sexual fix and it was starting to become a bother. Unfortunately, there were boundaries. If I crossed them, it would risk discovery of what I was. I feared that more than getting into big trouble with my family.
    
      It turned out that we were going to be hit by a hefty storm. Hence, all the effort I spent in the preparation of extra food proved prudent. The wind slammed the hotel fiercely. Fearing the windows would shatter, I closed the drapes and had Aurora sleep on the bed nearest the hotel interior. I slept on the floor, using the outer bed to shield myself in case the window should break. She didn't protest, and settled down to watch television. The storm was pretty strong but despite the noise and rattling, I was exhausted. I soon found my myself drifting off ....
    
      It was a painful feeling, like someone jabbing me in the cheek with a fork. I scratched my cheek and tried to ignore it.
    
      "Wake up." The poke came again, this time accompanied by rough shaking on my shoulders. "Wake the hell up Stanley bieu-guo!"
    
      I barely recognized Aurora through the fog of sleep. This had to be the lousiest vacation I ever took. Wait. No, I took that back; the trips to middle America with my father were just as bad. The difference was I had the option of dying by contracting some sort of exotic venereal disease in China. I groaned and tried hard not to snap to full consciousness.
    
      "What is it?" I mumbled.
    
      "I couldn't sleep." I heard her rustling her sheets. God, I thought, strike this woman dead so I could sleep in peace and I'll kill all the unbelieving, heretic sons-of-bitches you want with my talents. I didn't answer and the racket soon died down. Suddenly, I felt someone nearby.
    
      "Th'hell?" My eyes creaked open. I could make out a dark shape lying down next to me.
    
      "Aurora? What the hell are you doing?" I propped myself upright. It was my turn to be in shock.
    
      "You don't mind right?" She squirmed against me.
    
      "Fine, you want the floor?" I started to get up, "I'll take the bed."
    
      "No!"
    
      "What do you mean, 'No'?" I stopped and stared at her in the dark.
    
      "I can't sleep," my cousin repeated.
    
      "Yeah," I was now in a grouchy mood. "Me too."
    
      "Oh, you too huh?" Aurora misunderstood. "It's just the wind. All howling like a ghost."
    
      It was a good thing the room was dark because I rolled my eyes. I wanted to sigh but kept silent. I lived through this before. The girl wanted to talk. Luckily, Janet had inured me to that. We'd talk about things while I explored the limits of our bodies. Oh, we were so young and innocent then.
    
      So why, I wondered, was I letting this go this far? Was I so far off base, abusing my gifts as Tseng had predicted? Or was I merely acting on 'normal' impulse; after all, why ignore a feast before you if you're hungry?
    
      "Stanley," Aurora's voice hung in my ears, "You didn't say."
    
      "Say what?" I asked. I had forgotten my cousin was pouring her heart out.
    
      "What is she like?" she whispered. "The girl I remind you of."
    
      I thought of the curves and shape of Janet's body. Having seen Joan Chen rip her clothes off in "The Last Emperor" and "The Hunted", I was amazed how much my First had grown to resemble the famous actress. The thing that separated them was Janet's smaller eyes; the wide doe-like eyes Melanie had in spades, but that wasn't a trait my lovely Lady Wu possessed.
    
      Still, she was _very_ attractive. A little skinny when she was a teenager, Janet had filled out her curves. She kept fit by swimming and jogging (I later took her advice and swam as well). Her body type was "average" but it was that average-ness that made her so beautiful. Aurora was a stringy little thing; her body resembled Melanie's (Yu-Ching was fifteen at the time) but at the same time, it brought back the memories of Janet when I was younger. Nostalgia played a neat trick on me. In Aurora, I had found a mysterious mixture of my ladies Chen and Wu.
    
      "She --" I kept the two images of Janet and Melanie separate in my mind, "-- is very quiet."
    
      I could hear Aurora chortle softly.
    
      "I'm sorry," she sighed. "I just always hated hurricanes."
    
      "They're called typhoons here."
    
      "Whatever." I felt Aurora's fingers around my wrist. "We never have this crap where I live."
    
      "You're on the East Coast," I said in disbelief, "And you don't have winter storms?"
    
      "It's summer," she snapped. "Warm rain just freaks me out okay?"
    
      I sensed she was lying and I knew it, but I didn't say anything.
    
      "Just ...," she hesitated, "Just don't try anything funny, okay?"
    
      "It's kinda hard," I said truthfully. "I mean I haven't ..." I stopped and realized how much damage I could do. Well, judging from Aurora's steady breathing and sudden silence, the damage already was done.
    
      "Haven't what Stanley?" she asked.
    
      "Nevermind," I demurred and labored hard to make it soft. It was no use. I sprung to attention and Aurora felt me poke her awkwardly.
    
      "Bieu-guo?" her voice became soft.
    
      I felt her hand tug on my t-shirt. I put my hand on hers and gripped her gently. My cousin was drawing me down towards her. I sensed her mind wander wildly: 'Oh god.' 'Oh god.' 'Oh god.' 'We're going to do this.' 'We're going to fuck.' 'I'm going to hell for this.' _sob_ 'I know it.'
    
      "Sssh," I kissed Aurora's quivering lips, "You're horny. I'm horny. Just relax."
    
      I tasted her breath and she exhaled a warm breath filled with desire. Her hands pulled my shirt off and I felt her kiss my bare chest. I groaned and began tugging at her jammies. Aurora wore a short sleeved blouse and pajama trousers to bed. My heart skipped a beat as I pulled off her clothing; she was wearing nothing underneath.
    
      Aurora was tense in mind and body; I saw that her mind was abuzz with excitement and she did what she did out of instinct. My lovely cousin was soon groaning and grinding her hips against my hand. I tasted her skin, diving deep into the nape of her neck and ignored all the danger signs that Tseng had warned me about: uninhibited use of my gifts, and the rampant abuse of them.
    
      I was ready to mount my cousin Aurora like any other pretty woman. I soaked up her scent as my fingers slipped in and out of her cunt. She was damp now, her little pussy slick with joy juice. I couldn't wait, and I sensed neither could she. The room was dark, so we did what we did furtively with the sounds of a storm buffeting the building. Skinny Aurora was as light as Melanie but old enough that I could fuck her without any repercussions (save from our families). Her breasts were small A-cup buds, but I took them to my mouth anyway.
    
      My cousin gasped and inexpertly held my head so I couldn't do much more. I gently grabbed her hands and pulled them from their grip. Aurora tacitly understood and she let me crawl over and under her. Her body was taut and athletic thanks to her high metabolism and youth. I marveled how thin she could be; I felt her pelvic bones poking through her skin. Aurora was pretty much a skinny, sexy bundle of bones wrapped by a stretched layer of skin.
    
      I buried my head between Aurora's legs and dined on her sweet baby-bare bush. I heard her soft cries as my tongue parted her cunt lips. Aurora might've been a skinny little bitch, but her clit was pretty fat once she got aroused. It was a good plump little blister, much like the tip of a pinky finger. I encircled her engorged clit with my lips and sucked.
    
      Aurora cried out when I did. Thankfully, the only thing louder was the wind howling outside. My cousin quickly got herself back under control. She panted loudly as I gently clenched her fat clit between my teeth. Her body shuddered when I ran my tongue over her pleasure point. A funky, musky odor bean oozing from her cunt; Aurora was creaming. She was ready.
    
      I pulled myself up and found her frisky. Her hands clutched me, her hands gathering what little flesh she could from my body. Aurora's lips sought mine, and we lip-locked as I pushed into her. My lovely cousin let out a satisfied groan as I rammed my rock hard prick into her willing body. I felt the head of my cock bulldoze through her insides and sensed she was startled, in a little pain, and unused to such a sudden intrusion. I slowed then stopped myself once I hilted myself. Her body relaxed and her breathing slowed once more.
    
      Buried deep in Aurora's thin, doll-like body, I began to make in-roads into her consciousness. I pricked her pleasure centers here and there. At first, she didn't feel it. It was understandable since she and I just met. Aurora was also not gifted like Melanie or Viktoriya. In the case of my 'normal' darlings -- Janet, Rachelle, and Shawn -- I had prolonged contact with them for several months or years. This meant I knew what buttons to push and what to say to each of my girls when we got intimate.
    
      With Aurora, I felt no spirit-lifting, soulful connection. She was a piece of meat, and I was slaking my lust at her spring out of sheer convenience. Once I felt she was relaxed, I fucked her well and good. She soothed that burning itch I had been carrying around since I arrived in Hong Kong.
    
      Still, there was that emptiness I felt. Our act was ultimately all mechanical to me. I knew which physical buttons to push but I didn't twiddle with many of her mental ones. As the familiar feeling approached, I pulled out and sprayed her undulating, panting stomach with my sticky seed.
    
      Aurora panted for breath as her fingers worked my stuff over her skin. She rubbed it over her stomach and tits, her breaths coming out in short bursts. As my cute cousin drifted off in my arms, I felt an overwhelming sense of guilt; I had wronged my five darlings. I had experienced nearly a decade of love, ranging from the wifely Melanie to the exotic Rachelle. My friendships with Shawn and Janet had become love, and tough personal bonds kept me busy, happy, and entertained for all these years.
    
      Heck, I was used to the company of women (clothed or not) since I was twelve. So why was I screwing around on them? The storm was a mild one, but it still managed to delay our return by a day. We had one more night in China, so Aurora and I made the most of it. We couldn't take in more sights as the weather was really beating us down, so we couldn't go out.
    
      Thankfully, the barbeque pork was enough and we subsisted on that and what bottled water we had. Between the fuck sessions, we'd eat and sleep. We lived like animals until the winds died down (there was no room service during this time) and then we gladly got the hell out of China.
    
    ===============================================================================
      HONG KONG HONEY CONTINUED
    ===============================================================================
    
      Our folks were more than happy to see us when we returned. They had feared the worse when the storm hit. As luck would have it, things cleared up soon after. This was a perfect excuse to let our family to start ushering us around once more; I stopped it, I wanted a few days alone with Aurora, to let her down easy.
    
      After our initial barebacked session, I wised up fast and put on a raincoat each time after. Aurora didn't seem to be able to discern the difference. We obviously could not shack up while at Aunt Hortense's place nor could Aurora and I afford a room at a hotel or sex club without arousing suspicion. Hence, there were really only a few places where juveniles could gather and make-out without suspicion: the beach or a game center (in the United States, these are called 'video arcades').
    
      Since we had enough of nature, Aurora and I decided to try a game center near Ho-Man Tin. That turned out to be a big mistake in more ways than one. The most obvious mistake was Aurora didn't like videogames, although she was good at some of them. I hadn't played much as a kid, but I used to go to different arcades when I went to Reno with my family. Hence I was distracted enough that I didn't pay too much attention to Aurora. After an hour of messing around, I thought I'd find her next to the Sailor Moon machine, but instead found her on a dance machine, tearing it up.
    
      Now before I go on, game centers in Hong Kong are often the laundry businesses of criminal enterprises, much like the pachinko parlors in Japan (or casinos in the United States). While the handover of Hong Kong was peaceful, a lot of the underworld was still active. Aurora and I must've picked the wrong place to hang out since there were quite a few young hooligans at the establishment. In fact, most of them were around the DDR (Dance Dance Revolution) machine watching Aurora do her thing.
    
      I stepped closer, joining the bystanders around Aurora. I reached out and sensed her anger, and knew I she was irked at me for ignoring her. It must've been her way to getting back at me, parading herself in public in a nearly lewd fashion. At least she wasn't like Melanie at home.
    
      Ah, Yu-Ching, I rued. How I missed her! I watched as Aurora topped her last dance, and got the credits rolling. As my cousin punched in her initials into the machine, she saw me and waved. The punks around the machine saw this and began looking in the direction of her hail. Their eyes quickly settled on me. When they saw me, they passed each other some side-glances. A few elbowed one another and nodded my way.
    
      From my experience, a 'normal' in this situation could construed this as "They saw the guy and wondered if he was her boyfriend or brother." However, in as one of the gifted citizens of the empire, I detected an undercurrent of anxiety. With the handover, some of the mainland gangs were muscling into Hong Kong. While mainland groups had already some roots in Hong Kong, a handover of territory meant a change in laws (this was before Hong Kong was maintained as a separate Special Administrative Region).
    
      I quickly picked up some rumblings over my presence; I dressed in similar fashion, but my actions marked me as an outsider. They regarded me as a potential someone in a rival gang. Aurora stepped off and gave me a peck on the cheek.
    
      "Have fun?" she asked me in English.
    
      "Yeah," I replied smoothly. "You?"
    
      "wo-ho-yeet*." She fanned herself with a measure of futility. [* Cantonese: I feel so hot / too warm.]
    
      "Let's go grab something cold." I didn't bother speaking native as I took my cousin by the hand and lead her towards the exit.
    
      I didn't think those idiots would follow, but I was wrong. It was nice, to hold hands with a girl again, even if she was related. I quickly back-tracked mentally over the youths following us; about three or four, still in their teens, and lead by a delinquent who had the hots for Aurora. I felt myself build to a slow rage. I didn't love Aurora, but she was family.
    
      Besides, I had slammed the shit out of her six days from Sunday, so I owed her the courtesy of looking out for her. Furthermore, the situation was starting to goad me. She was my family through blood and marriage, and these guys wouldn't have a chance with her anyway. I wondered what the hell they were planning.
    
      Rape? Harassment? Robbery?
    
      "Hey! Slow down!"
    
      I felt Aurora tug me back. I slowed and let her catch up. I didn't know the neighborhood, but it was dense enough that we found a fast food shop that sold some cold treats. I couldn't take dairy, so I ordered an iced tea while my cousin happily ordered iced coffee. I had thought the arcade goons would've scraped together enough brainpower to abandon their hunt once we went into an eatery, but apparently I was wrong. Two of them came inside, ordered some food and drink then headed back outside where they loitered.
    
      Great. Now, I didn't know why I didn't just contact the police. I suppose I could've lied and said I saw these assholes eyeing my cousin and had been following us for about three city blocks, but I didn't.
    
      I didn't because I regarded this as a personal matter. I didn't because I knew I wanted to taste blood. I was careful not to show it outwardly, but I wondered about Tseng's exercises. They had made me better at what I do, but at the same time, I felt I was more and more single-minded in my execution of my will.
    
      Perhaps he was slowly brain-washing me as only a telepath could; in any case, I was torn between staying my hand and brandishing it. If these punks would stay out of my way ...
    
      "Done?"
    
      I jerked from my thoughts and watched Aurora run her slender fingers through her long hair.
    
      "God," she sighed with annoyance. "I should cut this short."
    
      "Don't." I gave her a grin. "You look pretty like that."
    
      "I do?" Her eyes softened. "Then I'll leave it long for you, bieu-guo."
    
      Hearing her address me so quashed any indecision I might've had. Our pursuers were still loitering outside. We stepped out past them and climbed on board a two-decker bus. Aurora dragged excitedly me up to the upper deck so we could be alone.
    
      There're several reasons why the top deck in double decker buses are often devoid of people; there are few security measures there and those who sit upstairs frequently get robbed. However, there were advantages too. Lovers sometimes went upstairs for a quickie or hand-job. Young Aurora was a girl in heat. The top deck was thankfully (or un-thankfully) empty, and she whispered that she was going to fist-fuck me once we were seated.
    
      I was thinking it would've been better to hail a cab when the youths made their move. Three of them had made it aboard. I sensed from them that the fourth one didn't want to go along, so they ditched him. The three moved towards us, one of them nodded towards Aurora. She smiled thinly but edged closer towards me. My cousin was not a happy woman when interrupted.
    
      I had always thought harassment in Hong Kong wouldn't be so bold, but perhaps I misjudged the time and place. Maybe incidents of crime occur daily in this particular area and I didn't know about it.
    
      It would be like me telling visitors to my city that you should never walk on Mission Street when possible, or to avoid the glitzy area near Powell Street (where the cable car runs) at night as that's when the transients, dealers, and street walkers come out. Maybe my cousin and I stumbled onto the worst bus line in the city. I gripped Aurora's hand and gave her a reassuring squeeze.
    
      "Hold on tight," I whispered to her in English, "You'll be safe."
    
      "I'm not afraid," she squeezed me back. "You know I'm a screamer."
    
      I almost smiled at that but I didn't. I needed to focus on the matter at hand. I didn't have to look at these guys to know what they were planning to do (a quick mugging and a gang-rape). Heck, I didn't even need eyes to sense where they were and what they planned to do individually. All I knew was that I didn't want to get involved, not overtly anyway.
    
      I skipped over the minds of the three perpetrators on the level with us. Having ditched their weak-minded fellow at the station, the most susceptible fellow was pretty resistant to any persuasion. So I did the next best thing. As two of them paced ahead (the third hung back to obscure the periscope the driver used to check in on the top deck) I reached out with my mind and flicked an image of a boy streaking into the street to the bus' driver.
    
      Almost immediately, the bus screeched to a halt and we all pitched forward; well, Aurora and I did anyway. The two punks who were making their way towards us fell back. My mind quickly reached out and pressed down on both their shoes; I heard dull series of splintering cracks and loud crashes. I looked up and saw the top deck was clear. I knew what I did: I had separated the ankles of the first two thugs. The punks screamed in blinding pain and clutched their feet as I released my telekinetic grip. There was no sign of the third thug.
    
      "Oh shit," Aurora was in shock. "Did we hit something?"
    
      "I don't think so," I feigned surprise. "Let's go."
    
      I pulled Aurora up and ushered her over the two 'normal' thugs as they writhed uselessly on the floor. When we got to the narrow steps, we saw the third punk crumpled in a heap on the bottom of the stairs. He had pitched backwards into the stairs when the bus stopped. From the way his body was lying, he appeared to be out cold. Or dead.
    
      I pulled my cousin through the crowd and we got off with the other passengers. The road was a mess. The double decker, stopping so suddenly, had created a terrific jam as people began crowding around the accident.
    
      "Bie-ga-fou-you-yige-che-oy*!" Aurora exclaimed. [* Cantonese: Goddammit! It's a vehicular accident!]
    
      Thankfully, there were no collisions (although I'm sure the driver wasn't too happy afterwards). People were shouting and pointing at the road, the bus, and each other. In the midst of the confusion, we slipped away to the other side of the street and hailed a cab.
    
      She and I got back to Aunt Hortense's condo and had an hour or so alone. Aurora's mind quickly settled on what we needed to do. We showered together and she blew me as I toweled off on her bed. Thus enticed, I pulled her out into the living room and fucked her on the sofa.
    
      The excitement of potentially being walked in on by my mother, Aunt Hortense, or someone else in the family drove my cousin into a sexual frenzy as I pounded her bare-back. I pulled out and jizzed on her stomach and tits. It was good timing, because we both heard the key hit the lock at the same time. When Aunt Hortense and my mother stepped in, they saw me step out from my room and Aurora from hers, both of us respectably dressed.
    
      Since the game arcades were so fraught with problems and doing it in the condo wasn't really an option, Aurora and I decided to spend the rest of our time at the beach. Some towels, sunblock, lotion, shades, sandals, drinks and an umbrella and we were set. We'd take a cab there and stay all day. When we weren't playing in the surf, we were playing in the sand.
    
      Ever fuck in the ocean? It's quite an experience, and a strenuous exercise too, since the man does the heavy lifting. Thankfully, my cousin was a skinny little thing and it gave me me a chance to practice my telekinetic gift.
    
      "So," Aurora sighed, "What time is your flight?"
    
      It was nearly sunset. She pushed a bead of sweat (or seawater) across my chest with her stubby nails. I was spent, and barely had the strength to struggle back into my swim shorts. Aurora threw her top loosely over her breasts. If someone complained, she would have time to tie it back on.
    
      "Three I think," I said. "Yours?"
    
      "Two-thirty."
    
      I scratched her sides lightly. If Hong Kong hadn't addled my wits, I remembered Shawn or Janet, one or the other, liked that, or loved doing that to me. I looked down and saw Aurora studying my torso carefully. I knew she was enamored with me, but regrettably, I didn't feel quite the same for her.
    
      "You're going back to see her aren't you," she finally spoke. It wasn't a question.
    
      "Yes," I replied.
    
      Aurora stopped her twiddling and pressed her face so tightly against me, I felt her eye-lashes against my skin when she blinked.
    
      "I know this, all this, was wrong," her voice trembled, "So wrong."
    
      "I know," I made an attempt to sound rueful. "I'm sorry."
    
      Well, not really. The sex was pretty good, you cock-hungry slut.
    
      "Don't be sorry," she said. "I'm not."
    
      Aurora's hand slipped lower and toyed with my navel. I almost giggled from the tickling, but I numbed my senses until it was just a dull itch. I felt her body shake. From the balminess of the weather, it wasn't she was feeling chill. She was crying.
    
      Aw fuck. I hugged her to put her mind at ease.
    
      "Easy darling," I cradled her gently, all the while feeling wholly rotten. "You'll be fine."
    
      She took a deep breath and kept silent.
    
      "Aurora," I kissed the top of her head, "You're young. You'll do a lot better than me."
    
      That's only a half-truth, I was sure. Unless she married a Kennedy who had telepathy and wasn't a sex maniac.
    
      "Don't just settle for the first guy who does ya," I scolded.
    
      "Did you?" she asked.
    
      "Did I what?" I countered.
    
      "Fall in love with the first girl you fucked?"
    
      "Yes." I thought of Janet and found myself grinning. "But not at first. It took a while, but I did. Still do."
    
      "Then it could also happen again," Aurora put her hand on her chest, "With me!"
    
      "We've only known each other for eight days," I managed a small smile, "That's hardly time enough for anything."
    
      "But --!"
    
      "Easy," I placed a hand on hers.
    
      Instantly, I sensed her calming down, her thoughts less intent and less focused on me. I didn't want it any other way, but Aurora didn't feel like an asset to me. Jeopardizing her academic career and her future wasn't my intention either. She could have lived in New Jersey and I could have kept her like a pet, but she was still my cousin.
    
      Whether or not she and I could've eloped to China and gotten married was another story. Besides, that would have drawn too much attention. Too much attention, I thought, to risk it over a 'normal' woman.
    
      While Melanie was younger than Aurora, I had known Yu-Ching for six years. Aurora was pretty much a stranger to me, despite her being my cousin. I had kept Aurora in a calm state long enough. I had stifled enough of her emotions that I could now try to talk to her without her breaking into hysterics, panic, or depression. I did and neither she nor I moved for a time.
    
      "C'mon, let's watch the sunset." I tried pulling her close but she resisted. Aurora stood up without a word and hustled to her bag.
    
      Poor little bitch, I thought as I cast my gaze over the sun-drenched water.
    
      CLICK. I looked up and saw Aurora with her digital camera. She had snapped a picture of me sitting in the sand.
    
      "Take a picture of me," she passed the camera to me.
    
      "What kind of picture?"
    
      Aurora batted her eyes and flashed a big wide grin. "A picture to make _her_ jealous."
    
      Great, I mused. That was just how Rachelle started questioning me about Janet. Damn women and their goddamned shutter-buggery. Aurora sat, her legs bent together at the knees in a classic beach bunny pose. She stared straight at me and nodded. I brought up the camera and called out, "One -- two -- three!"
    
      "C'mon a second one," she begged, "Before there's no more light."
    
      I sighed and relented. This time, she folded her arms across her chest, her fingers under the straps of her bikini top.
    
      Again, I counted, "One -- two -- three!"
    
      At the count of three, Aurora slipped her top off. I stared in shock as the camera clicked. She pulled her top back on and looked at me triumphantly.
    
      "What'd you do that for?" I asked.
    
      "It's something sexy for you to remember me by," she took the camera from me. "Now here, I want a few of you then some with the two of us."
    
      CLICK. She snapped a photo of me, with me looking either very amused, or very nonchalant. Aurora was content only after she kissed me (somewhat passionately) on my cheek and snapped a picture. When she put away her camera, I felt the need to speak.
    
      "I better not find those on the internet," I said quietly.
    
      She cracked a smile. "Better! I'll just mail it to you. Framed!"
    
      "Aurora," I brushed her cheek. "I have your email and number, we can talk. But nothing foolish, understand?"
    
      Nothing foolish indeed, I thought darkly. Otherwise Viktoriya might find herself a new and interesting pet.
    
      "Okay," she sighed. "If you're ever on the East Coast, though."
    
      "I'll visit," I relented. "I promise."
    
      My cousin said no more but she nodded. I sensed she understood and let the matter drop. We packed as the sun settled on the water's surface and hurried home by cab. I don't know about Aurora, but I had some things to pack. I stuffed my luggage as best I could after our farewell dinner and smiled simply when she cast me furtive glances through the rest of the night.
    
      I slept rather lightly afterwards. As I lay in bed, I wondered if Aurora was likewise in her's, wishing we were together again. I am a little saddened by this memory. It would be the last time I saw her alive.
    
    ===============================================================================
      SMALL RECOLLECTIONS
    ===============================================================================
    
      One thing I detest about trips was the sheer amount of unattended mail I have to deal with once I got home. With the internet, it has only gotten worse. It is a most unlikely deterrent to skip the return trip. Amongst the pile of mail I found after coming back from Hong Kong was an acceptance letter. I could continue my studies at Berkeley for my masters degree in environmental design.
    
      Should I earn that, all I needed afterwards was to pass a four day examination (similar to MCAT but geared specifically towards facilities design) to lawfully practice as a licensed architect. My parents were superbly proud; few undergraduates could carry on their work at the same school. Most students are shuffled out of state to other colleges. The reasoning behind this was to force expose them to other parts of the world.
    
      I forgot what my reasoning was. I remembered I simply wrote the truth: I wanted to stay in California and design facilities, structures, and domiciles specific to the state; seeing how things were built elsewhere in the world, oil platforms in Texas, quaint homes in New England, agropom facilities in the Midwest, and permafrost friendly buildings in Alaska were all well and good, but all of it had little bearing on what I wanted to do with my life in California.
    
      My short stay in Hong Kong was more educational in how people lived in other parts of the world than all the years I would study elsewhere. Too bad I wasn't able to include that anecdote into my application. I didn't ask why or how, I just was in. Maybe I unconsciously imparted some sort of psychic emanation on my application. Maybe I lucked out. Maybe someone in the family paid the school off to accept me (that wouldn't be true I knew later, Berkeley was a state school not a private institution).
    
      I didn't care. I was now a graduate student at Berkeley, and I suddenly realized I needed a ton of money to pay for my tuition. Tseng's windfall slowly dried up. There was some left, but not enough for tuition. I used it mainly to supplement my meager living expenses.
    
      Since that money wasn't something I reported, I had started the financial aid process. I was only allotted money, but only a small amount so I had to take out student loans to cover my expenses. I knew I needed a job, but I didn't find any firms able to hire a student with just academic experience.
    
      Before I left for Hong Kong, I had put in applications for various internships at building and construction firms in the area. A few were graduate student instructor positions with several instructors (I was not close with any) ranging in courses from the academic (architectural history and studies in humanitarian aesthetics) to practical (structural systems and building materials). I figure it would be a good way to cover my ass in case I was accepted into the graduate program.
    
      Only one, an instructor for ARCH 170, had replied favorably and only that class still retained an opening. It was a computer-aided drafting course. I groaned as I read the letter of acceptance. Great. More goddamn work teaching a bunch of junior fuck-tards how to operate a C.A.D. interface.
    
      'At least you'll be paid. Isn't that enough?'
    
      I didn't need to look to know who thought-spoke. Viktoriya sat crossed legged in mid-air. She was visiting me prior to her move to New York City. Her deparature wasn't helping my disposition. Of the few things I wanted at that moment, I mostly wanted her to stay.
    
      It wasn't the sex; it was the kinship we shared through our gifts. Having spent so much time practicing with one another, Viktoriya and I were quite adept at masking our thoughts from one another. Hence, our business was completely ours unless we volunteered it. I chose to share my Hong Kong experiences with her, and she shared hers from her jaunt to New York.
    
      I saw the institute she was going to go in the fall, along with some other NYC landmarks like the World Trade Center, Battery Park, Brooklyn Bridge, and the dance school she was going to study at. I saw the Brooklyn neighborhood where she planned to be staying. It was a very rustic part of town and it was newly inundated with emigres still fleeing from the Commonwealth of Independent States.
    
      From me, she saw the seedy sides of Kowloon, Hong Kong, Tsim-sa-sui, Homan-Tin, Star Ferry, Lion Mountain, and the lazy beaches where Aurora and I hung out. She also learned of the bus incident. Viktoriya smiled with a wolfish grin when she learned about my cousin.
    
      'Perhaps I should pay her a visit.'
    
      "I didn't know you liked skinny girls," I chided her. "Help yourself. If you do, keep her away from the others for my sake."
    
      'Yes, dorogoi*.' [* Russian: Dear (archaic)] Viktoriya's thought-speak was acidic, especially when she addressed me as "old dear" in her native tongue.
    
      She was a mixture of cultures: her father was Russian and her mother was a Romanian living in Ukraine. Viktoriya spoke Russian better than Ukrainian, and just a smattering of Romanian. With so much turmoil in the final years of the Soviet Union, she found a universal language in dance. This was the reason she was leaving.
    
      Viktoriya was serious about her love of dancing (more than her love of abusing her gift, or eating pussy) and there was a dance school (labeling itself as an institute of motion study) in Manhattan where she would develop her skills. I anticipated missing my dusky Russkie very much once she was gone.
    
      'Maybe you want a threesome with me, her and you when you visit me?'
    
      "Just say when," I laughed and she telekinetically soft-pushed me to the floor.
    
      'Well?' Viktoriya was still waiting patiently for an answer to her question about my choice of profession.
    
      "I don't think I could do much better," I said and sighed. "Graduate student instructor (T.A.) I'll be."
    
      While I could thought-speak to her directly, I enjoyed talking aloud to Viktoriya. It was my way to remind her of her connection to the normal world.
    
      'You should go to school in New York.' She included a glimmer of hope along with her words.
    
      "And build more bridges?" I smiled and stopped short of laughing. "No thanks. I like being a lazy Californian."
    
      "Come with me!" Viktoriya said aloud in her accented English, "And we can be together."
    
      "My place is here, with Janet and Melanie," I watched her intently. She was hovering a good two feet off the soft floor of my room.
    
      'How about the other girls?' Viktoriya cocked her head towards me.
    
      "I don't know," I shrugged. "Only if they want to."
    
      'You are very lenient.' Viktoriya flipped onto her back and unfolded her legs. Unlike Melanie, who practiced in the nude, my Baltic beauty kept her kit on. She only bared her hands and feet.
    
      "I am the most lenient tyrant of all," I joked.
    
      I nearly said 'emperor' but I managed to stop myself. There was no clear leader in the invisible empire. Just a bunch of gifted having a good time. If Tseng was officially a ranking member of the empire, he wasn't too forthcoming about it. In any case, Tseng had warned me about revealing him to anyone. I wanted to tell both my lovelies about the invisible empire, but fear kept me silent. Back then, I wondered about his reticence about the empire in relation to Melanie and Viktoriya. Melanie's youth was an excuse I could understand, but there was no good reason for keeping Viktoriya in the dark.
    
      I had but one fear, a most-secret but likely reason, about why Viktoriya was not told about the empire: I suspected Tseng was her half-brother's killer. Wouldn't that be pretty? It made a sort of sick logical sense. Tseng was willing to meet me but not Viktoriya (Melanie, as mentioned earlier, was too latent to pose a threat, so Tseng pretty much dismissed her by the time she was fourteen). I couldn't fathom why he avoided Viktoriya, as I couldn't probe his thoughts.
    
      I wondered if Tseng showed his face when he did the deed; would Viktoriya recognize her brother's killer by sight? I knew it didn't make much sense. I had seen Tseng's face, so she'd know if she touched upon those memories using mind-sight. Then again, Tseng might've been so powerful, she never knew his identity. Still, Viktoriya didn't seem to know, or make it known that she knew. Maybe it was a good thing that we were able to hide so much from each other.
    
      With Viktoriya and I relying more and more on mind-sight to stay in touch, I thought it would've been a prudent thing to sever my relationship with Tseng, just as a precaution. I didn't though. My reasons for keeping the status quo weren't wholly altruistic. While I didn't care much for Tseng, the man was also a veritable treasure trove of knowledge. He had answers I sought and what he didn't answer clearly, I could sometimes guess at one from the scant words he'd surrender.
    
      Besides, having seen what Tseng could do to processed steel, I wasn't about to make any unsubstantiated accusations. I wasn't afraid for myself. I was fearful what he would do to Viktoriya. His enmity may not have ended with the simple extermination of the mysterious Russian.
    
      A second, lesser fear kept me brooding. The NSA had not followed up with me for some time. I wondered about Davies' interrogation. What did I get mixed up in? I was half-sure the agency would've sent someone to follow me, but so far, I felt nothing. No living presence was following me, or no one who was in range of my ability to detect them.
    
      And as for Tseng's fleeting words, "I'll be watching", did it mean he was shadowing me? I wasn't absolutely sure, so I sat tight, bode my time, observed, and worried.
    
      How could I talk to Viktoriya about the invisible empire without opening myself to the inevitable questions that would follow? I didn't want to think about it; thinking about it would've made me susceptible to her mind-reading.
    
      I focused on Viktoriya and levitated off the bed. After a little fumbling, I was atop her, paying homage to Roger Moore's James Bond and the zero-G Bond girl in Moonraker. She chuckled and flipped atop me. My dancing darling kissed me then pushed gently away. I reached out and gripped her hand to stop; we spun towards one another once more and embraced.
    
      To an observer, it would have seemed like we were in weightless space, but certain tells easily dispelled that. Our clothes, key chains, and hair were still affected by earthly gravity. And most telling of all, Viktoriya's hair wasn't a floating mass like it would in space. It took a proportionately larger amount of concentration to levitate that much surface area. As I saw it, psychokineticists pushed against surface areas, hence the massiveness of an object was irrelevant.
    
      We have an easier time affecting a large mass that is simpler in nature (i.e., a large cube that is typical of modern art) than a smaller mass with more a complex structure (a star-shaped origami). In hasty panic, such complicated objects could be affected, but only partially; this was potentially injurious (or fatal) to living objects like people because parts of the mass would be affected while other parts wouldn't be.
    
      I felt Viktoriya's hands slide under my clothing and over my skin. In a flashy show of her gift, she unbuttoned my shirt and pants. I then heard her sigh audibly.
    
      'Why do you wear underwear?' She deliberately snapped my waistband to provoke me.
    
      I grinned and stroked her ears. "I won't if you won't."
    
      She gave me a toothsome grin as she pulled away from me and slipped off her pants, revealing her sweet smooth bottom.
    
      Wow.
    
      A part of me went to attention while I pushed myself towards her. I clutched her eagerly and found her only other underwear was a sports bra to keep her B-cup puppies in place while she danced. Viktoriya bit my neck fiercely as she began tearing off my clothes with her mind and body. She pushed me a little higher until I was touching the ceiling.
    
      Her dark eyes regarded me with unspeakable lust as her red lithesome tongue tickled my already erect prick. Viktoriya bared her teeth like an animal and bit the head gently. It wasn't enough to cause any damage, but it sure got my attention. I groaned through clenched teeth as she began putting bite marks up and down my stiff shaft. Viktoriya's hands weren't idle either: her nails firmly clutched my balls and alternated between massaging them and crushing them. When I thought I could barely hold back, she took me into her mouth and ate up the whole length.
    
      "Uggawd," I nearly lost my concentration.
    
      It would've been dangerous since my dick was still in the mouth of a girl who was floating over my floor. I could have knocked out some of her teeth or worse. But the whole point of this was to keep ourselves in practice, and what better distraction was there?
    
      As powerful as Viktoriya was in telekinesis, she was still a living breathing being. I heard her panting and felt the hot breaths from her nostrils as she gorged herself on my fat cock. Her nails dug deep into my buttocks, egging me on. My dick spasmed with excitement but I did not ejaculate. I enjoyed holding back, denying myself and Viktoriya of an explosive finish. She was gagging now, on account of my fat cock choking her throat. I felt her cool spit dripping down my balls like condensation of an air conditioner.
    
      I felt a slight shift of weight and felt Viktoriya slipping. She was slowly sinking, my cock still in her mouth. I had outlasted her in this round and felt a little more than proud. I gripped her head and gently bid her to let go. She coughed  and gagged as I slid my wet willy from her mouth. Her eyes were teary from the time she spent down there. She panted, mouth agape, as she struggled to find breath. Viktoriya regained her height now and was floating even with me.
    
      I guided her towards my dick. It was still slick with her spit and I felt a chill come on. To stave off any softening, I got busy. Viktoriya sneezed as I pushed myself deep into her body.
    
      It was a curious thing she did: sneezing when I put myself into her. I noticed it started after she transferred to Berkeley, and the stress started to wear me thin. I noticed though, that Viktoriya was quite calm and accepting when we were together. I eventually realized that her sneezing was her letting down her guard; she was comfortable near me.
    
      Nevertheless, Viktoriya would always become coy for a moment after her sneeze; it was like if she had farted in an elevator full of people. She'd become very bashful, and that would elicit sympathy from me. All this though, would only be a prelude to her natural state of aggression. Once the action got started, she'd rouse herself into a proper wildcat.
    
      We were now fucking in mid-air, our bodies being pushed by our minds. I slowly nudged us over my small bed. By the time I was pounding my Ukrainian uber-cutie like a piledriver, Viktoriya's knees were pinned to the side of her head and her lean, mean, fucking-machine pinned to the mattress.
    
      She wore an angry snarl and with each thrust, her fingernails bit deep into my back. I smelled her musk, tasted her sweat, and heard her lusty cries as I worked under her lash. I glanced at her and, seeing her face so contorted with pleasure, I thought-spoke something downright filthy: 'I'm gonna scuzz in you baby.'
    
      Viktoriya's eyes widened and her mouth opened but no sound came out as I jerked and unloaded my spunk into her dancer's body. Her eyes glazed over as I pumped in what I thought was gallons of baby batter into her waiting womb. I knew that wasn't possible, my body couldn't produce that much sperm and semen, but it certainly felt like I did. I collapsed over her briefly, then like a trained seal, I rolled off to avoid crushing her. Janet had taught me well.
    
      The brunette sat up and squatted over me. I could see her limbs shaking and trembling as she struggled to put her crotch over my head. I could see her cunt and ass were a mess of dark hair and slick sweat. I heard her grunt and saw a cloudy, creamy fluid drip from her gaping gash. She gasped as I leaned up and sucked her two holes and felt the warmth of Viktoriya's pungent placental piss mixed with my own ejaculate in my mouth. I gripped her body tightly and tickled her warm shitpit with my tongue until she cried out.
    
      "Stop, kisa*! STOP!!" [* Russian: Pet (literally, kitty cat)]
    
      I drew her down and we coiled like sleeping serpents on my bed. Viktoriya was flustered and looked as if she was ready to fall faint. The feral expression on her face was replaced with one more serene; she had orgasmed and was enjoying its calming aftermath. She lay on top of me, playing with my hair. My wet flaccid cock between her legs as I slowly squeezed and massaged her bare buttocks.
    
      'So you are taking Fat-Freckle-Face to Two-Face's engagement dinner?'
    
      Viktoriya thought-spoke, using the epithets she cast on each of the other girls I was close with. I had gotten used to her tasteless barbs. Thankfully, she never used them in audible form, just thought-speech; it would've very vindictive and impolite in public.
    
      "Yeah. We're meeting them for dinner tomorrow night," I stifled a yawn. "And it is Faraz's and Ghandia's engagement; not Rachelle's."
    
      'It may as well if you are not taking Two-Face.'
    
      Her tone was less than respectful, but it was directed towards the mulatto, not me. Rachelle and I had entered a freeze in our relationship at the time. It started when my dark darling came back and discovered that Janet and I had reconciled through Melanie's efforts. We broached the subject of seeing other people, and she had confessed she had been seeing a fellow at her end. I didn't think of it as cheating in either of our cases. Looking back, I wasn't sure if I missed Rachelle as I lead everyone else to believe.
    
      "I have an extra day," Viktoriya spoke suddenly to break the silence.
    
      I arched a brow. "I thought you couldn't wait to be in the Big Apple."
    
      "I do not start immediately," she went on talking. "I just wanted to 'acclimatize' before I do. Missing one or two days is no trouble."
    
      She sounded sure of herself, but I was suspicious. "You want to come along?"
    
      Viktoriya's lips curled in a lascivious smile. "May I?"
    
      'You just want to see Rachelle.' I shot her a rueful grin as I thought-spoke. The girl grinned back and laughed.
    
      Of course, I sighed. Viktoriya was bi-curious and she had always wanted to meet Rachelle in person. I wondered and worried over what might happen if she got close enough ...
    
      'We can make it an unforgettable night.' Her dark eyes glowed with unnatural desire. 'Together, kisa, we can have so much fun!'
    
      "Tempting," I laughed so mask my nervousness, "But what would Shawn think?"
    
      Viktoriya wore a toothy grin. 'Why you make Fat-Freckle-Face join in!'
    
      "That's not how I want it," I said flatly.
    
      'Yes it is.' She countered mentally. 'You cannot hide all your thoughts you vile beast!'
    
      "Well, okay," I admitted, "I do want that, but not if it means hurting anyone."
    
      "You have already 'hurt' Rachelle," Viktoriya scoffed aloud. "When you professed loving Tom-Boy to her."
    
      "Alright," I made a face. "That was a bad move, but it's considerably more humane."
    
      'Humane.' She frowned as she cut me off. 'You mean to say _normal_?'
    
      Even though Tseng had not communicated with Viktoriya, at least, they both shared a similar disdain and term for the ungifted.
    
      "Okay come along," I relented and started for the edge of the bed, "But let me make some calls."
    
      The phone on the nightstand vibrated a little then its handset leaped into the air and settled neatly into my hand. Viktoriya had anticipated my intentions and made it a point to display her skill. The first call I made was to Faraz; after all, he was my best friend and the one who invited me (and any guests) to the dinner-party.
    
      "Hey Stan!" Faraz's voice buzzed over the handset, "I already put you down for 'plus two'." I could almost feel him wink. "Remember? You said you wanted to bring Melanie to meet Rachelle."
    
      "Oh, yeah." I had forgotten about that. "Well, she couldn't make it; I got someone else to take her seat though. Is that all right?"
    
      "Sure my friend," I thought I heard schlurping or gurgling sounds on Faraz's end; maybe he was getting a quick blow from Ghandia.
    
      "It's all okay!" He hung up and I remembered what I had planned a little while earlier. I wanted to bring Janet to the dinner, but she declined since she started her job at civil court.
    
      "It's on a Sunday, Stanley," she declined with a heavy sigh, "And I have to work early Monday. Big asbestos case."
    
      Melanie wanted to go, but I decided not to bring her along; there would be alcohol, and besides, her parents wouldn't like it if I dragged her alone. So I explained it to her as best I could. Yu-Ching wasn't happy, but accepted my judgement.
    
      "FINE," she crossed her arms in a huff, "But you have to take me to Janet's workplace so we can do lunch."
    
      So, that left Shawn. She was free and college age, so I decided take her along. She was a shade under the drinking age, but with a little mental fiddling I could pass her off as 21. I dialed Shawn next, and wondered if I was that distracted I'd forget my own plans.
    
      'You are distracted.'
    
      I shot Viktoriya a dirty look and she looked back defiantly.
    
      'Call Fat-Freckle-Face. I want to play with you.'
    
      "Oh really?" I said sarcastically, but moderated my temper when I heard the ringer warble on Shawn's end.
    
      "Hello?"
    
      "Shawn?" I asked. "Is that you? Did I call at a bad time?"
    
      'I bet no.' Viktoriya slithered around my body and began touching me.
    
      "No, I can talk a bit," Shawn replied. "Aren't we getting up early tomorrow? You promised to have lunch with me before we get ready for Faraz's party!"
    
      'Nyet, lastochka*. [* Russian: A term of endearment. Literally, 'little swallow'] Stanislav is fucking my mouth.' Viktoriya picked up Shawn's end of the conversation by feeling the atmospheric vibrations from the telephone's speaker. I wanted to swat the pesky brunette but I kept my cool. She began sucking my cock to placate me.
    
      "Uh, yeah. About that. I just wanted to ask you something," I shivered as Viktoriya gently chewed my junk like a teething puppy, "I have a friend from Berkeley and she ..." I paused and was at a loss of what to say as an excuse.
    
      'I want to meet Two-Face. I want to fuck her. I want to you to watch me. Then I want her to watch us.'
    
      Viktoriya's words hardly connected with what she was doing at the moment. My cock had gone back into a full erection and my ex-Commie cutie was ribbing my head and shaft between her teeth and her wicked tongue.
    
      "... wants to come along. Lunch and dinner," I somehow managed to remain coherent. "Faraz didn't mind but I'd thought I'd ask you first."
    
      "Oh sure, Stanley," Shawn said brightly. Then she lowered her voice, as if Viktoriya could hear, "Does she have a date?"
    
      "Er, ah." I grimaced. It was getting difficult to think. Viktoriya was pumping her head up and down my cock. Despite her skill as a psychokineticist, she enjoyed the raw taste of cock and didn't mind a little physical labor to get what she wanted.
    
      'I need no chaperone.' Viktoriya thought to me. 'Now come in my mouth. I want Fat-Freckle-Face to hear us.'
    
      I grunted and held back. The last thing I wanted was Shawn having a breakdown, or going ballistic.
    
      "Are you okay, Stanley?" Shawn had worry in her voice.
    
      "I'm fine. I think she'll be fine," I checked my breathing and went on. "Pick you up at ten?"
    
      "Okay. See you tomorrow then," my Anglo angel whispered, "Good night. I love you!"
    
      "Love you t--" I barely finished before I heard the phone go dead.
    
      Viktoriya had hung up the thing with her telekinesis. I was a little sore as I placed the handset back into the cradle. I seized her head and heard her gag and sneeze. I pushed deep against her face, the tip of my cock touching the back of her throat.
    
      "I don't want you ever to do that when I'm on the phone again," I said through clenched teeth. "You need discipline and control."
    
      It was roughly the same words Tseng had used. Viktoriya was struggling to breathe, her hands slapped helplessly against me. I was slightly surprised myself. For a girl who could easily lift us both and juggle a half dozen cars at the same time, she was behaving docilely as I did as I pleased.
    
      I finally yielded and pulled out. Viktoriya coughed, sputtered, and collapsed on all fours, breathing raggedly. My dick was slimy, wet, and still hard from raping her mouth, but I wasn't finished. I was more than a little put off by how Viktoriya exhibited her jealousy of the others' Melanine moped and seethed, but she would vent her energy into trying to out-do the others to garner my attention.
    
      Viktoriya on the other hand, seemed to exhibit an edgier side and dared to test my patience and acceptable social norms. Testing my patience was one thing, but pushing social norms meant unwanted attention. Unwanted attention would mean revealing the invisible empire. And revealing the empire meant dealing with Tseng.
    
      I reached down and grabbed a handful of Viktoriya's hair. She didn't resist as I pulled her roughly to the bed. Her eyes were wet with tears, but she wasn't crying. If anything, she seemed to be smiling, if only faintly. I wasn't finished yet. Viktoriya had riled me up and she was going to get it. I barely remembered it, but it was in this room that I had forced myself on Rachelle the first time. I looked at Viktoriya and realized that she was smiling. She probably planned this, filching my memories in my moments of weakness.
    
      Good God, I thought. She wanted it to happen. She was probably getting off on my memories of Rachelle's first time in the room when I zonked-out the mulatto girl by accident then date-raped her.
    
      Sick bitch. I flipped her over to avoid looking at her face, but I heard her laugh. Of course she did. Why wouldn't she? She didn't need to see me to enjoy this. She could even use mind-sight to look at her own body while I fucked her.
    
      So you want to see how I raped Rachelle do you, I thought dourly.
    
      'I dare you, kisa. I _dare_ you.'
    
      She taunted me with thought-speech. Viktoriya turned her head and ran her tongue over her lips. Had anyone seen her do that in public, there would be no doubt what was on her mind at that time.
    
      I stuffed a pillow under her belly to prop her butt up towards me. I rubbed my shaft against her bushy cunt and pressed in slightly then pulled back out. Viktoriya hissed with audible pleasure at the initial intrusion then her body tensed as she realized what I intended to do.
    
      Almost immediately, I felt her ass cheeks clench tight as she struggled to turn around. I pressed down on her with my weight and kept her prone. I felt the bed vibrate as Viktoriya tried breaking free, but I jumped into her mind and disrupted her concentration. The bed and the rest of the room continued to vibrate, but it came to naught as I rammed my fat dick into her tightly wrapped shitpit.
    
      "Nghk--aiy!" Viktoriya let out a short wail.
    
      I felt the tenseness of her whole being, not just her body, as I literally reversed her ingrained feeling of what it was like to shit with one smooth stroke. I lay atop her, pinning her with my body and my mind, and feeling the tight, gritty warmth of her anal ring wrapped around my wonder wand.
    
      We were in a stalemate of sorts. Viktoriya could've thrown me off in a rage, but I would've pulled at something (likely her) and would've injured her severely. I could keep going as I did with Rachelle but I felt it would be unfair to Viktoriya. It would mean she wouldn't be able to sit for a week. So, I leaned over as if to whisper in her ear, but thought-spoke instead: 'Truce?'
    
      I felt Viktoriya panting and gasping, her ass clenched my tool, trying to shit it out but without success.
    
      'Truce.' She surrendered herself.
    
      I slowly inched out of her ass, and a familiar stink permeated the room briefly. I opened the windows then headed for the bathroom. Viktoriya followed close on my heels. I showered while she sat on the toilet and let out an audible fart.
    
      "I'm sorry," I said over the hiss of the shower spray.
    
      "I know," Viktoriya said sullenly. The fight was taken out of her. She wiped herself then stepped into the shower to wash herself. It was an abnormally hot night, so I stood in the tub and watched.
    
      "Is it always that painful?" she asked me aloud.
    
      "It needn't be," I caught her hand as she tried to push me away.
    
      Viktoriya froze and I felt her fear. I didn't want things to grow worse between us; she was already leaving for another city. I hugged her and kissed her neck and shoulders. I felt her relax as she returned my affection.
    
      'Maybe I should not go with you tomorrow.' Her thought-speech seemed flat and emotionless. 'You have a date already.'
    
      "No I don't mind," I brushed back some of her deep brown hair. "But let's ramp it down a little; don't give me a blowjob when I'm busy okay?"
    
      'Very well.' She sounded disappointed. 'But buy me a dress. You promised her, you can promise me. Besides, I need to look nice for tomorrow night.'
    
      We separated and stepped out of the shower. I followed her back into the bedroom where we both took to bed, our minds buzzed with a shared sense of renewed mischief. We played with our bodies using telekinesis, discovering the odd delight of "touching" without actual physical contact. After we tired of applying our minds, we applied pressure the old fasioned way. Despite all our gifts, we still found great delight in just plain old 'normal' sex.
    
    ===============================================================================
      GONE CHOPIN. BACK IN A MINUET. TRY HANDEL.
    ===============================================================================
    
      When I awoke the next morning with my wet, wilted cock between Viktoriya's legs, I realized that it was our first sleep-over. It had occurred so naturally, it escaped my notice (and apparently hers). The first thing she did after getting up (and grabbing a quick shower) was to give a call to her parents.
    
      I cleaned up while she babbled on my line in Russian. Despite the increasing volume of her voice throughout the call, Viktoriya seemed unruffled when she pitched the handset back into the cradle with her telekinesis. She sat back lazily on my bed and sighed.
    
      "How'd they take it?" I asked. It didn't take a mind-reader to know what I was asking about.
    
      "Papa says to focus on the institute," she replied slowly. "Mama wonders what you want with me."
    
      "Parents," I tousled her shoulder-length hair.
    
      'Parents.' Viktoriya's dark eyes twinkled with joy as she thought-spoke. I leaned down and kissed her warmly, our rough spat the night before forgotten and past.
    
      As we planned the night before, Viktoriya and I picked up Shawn around ten. That gave us time enough for a quickie exercise in Golden Gate Park where we practiced "shrouding" our telekinetic focus around our bodies as an unseen "repelling force". We had so much fun sticking our fingers and feet into Spreckles Lake and pushing aside the water that we almost stayed past our self-allotted deadline.
    
      By the time we pulled up to Shawn's house, she was already outside waiting anxiously. To my surprise, Viktoriya apologized and offered to treat Shawn to lunch. Shawn took to calling Viktoriya "Vicky" almost immediately. Another quirk that won Viktoriya over was how my plump little angel almost always saw the brighter side of things. Shawn asked "Vicky" how she knew me, and then made healthy small talk after we ordered.
    
      Shawn had known about my relationship with my First (Janet), Rachelle, and (about two years ago) Melanie. She didn't mind Viktoriya's presence; I knew she knew I was probably seeing her six-ways from Sunday too. It didn't matter though, I paid Shawn the attention she deserved when were together, and neither of us let hang-ups interfere with the chief reason why we liked hanging out: to have fun. That was exactly what we were having until the check came.
    
      That's when I realized exactly how far Viktoriya was willing to push her gift. The recent bonding Viktoriya and I had done (mentally and otherwise) meant she possessed some of the mental persuasion I had developed over the years, chiefly the substitution of imagery a 'normal' could sense (sight, sound, touch, and smell/taste). Viktoriya glanced at our check then slipped what I thought was a fan of money onto the tray. I blinked and saw that the dollar bills were in fact, napkins. My jaw nearly dropped.
    
      Holy. Shit.
    
      'That's taking things a bit far aren't we?' I gave her a mental toungue-lashing.
    
      'I'm not paying for lousy food.' Viktoriya dismissed me with a smile.
    
      I held my breath until we walked out. No one came after us, but I never did go back to that cafe again. Shawn wasn't aware anything was amiss, but I rued that I had done something similar (out of necessity) when I took Shawn out on our first date. Unlike Viktoriya though, I simply disguised a single dollar as a ten, so that restaurant just got short-changed; I didn't pay them with paper napkins.
    
      We headed for the shopping mall after. There was a boutique Viktoriya wanted to go for a dress. She suggested Shawn get one as well.
    
      "For tonight," she said.
    
      "But I have a dress," Shawn said then turned to me and asked. "Is it really that fancy?"
    
      "I don't know," I shrugged, "But Ghandia's and Faraz's family will be there."
    
      "Sounds quite the affair." Viktoriya nudged me aside, and grinning wolfishly, she pulled Shawn alongside her. I put on my best face, but grimaced inwardly. This was going to be a busy day. From the way Viktoriya was looking at Shawn, I knew she was just biding her time. That nymphomaniac would pounce on my baby angel's snatch once the situation was right.
    
      Now, going shopping was not something a man generally does (gifted or not). Going shopping in the company of two pretty women was another thing entirely. Shawn hadn't shot up much more since her days in school. But she did get a little bigger (just her tits, which were now fatty D-cups) from her sedentry lifestyle of drafting plans and schematics on a computer.
    
      She wasn't a size 3, but she didn't require a size 14 either. She just needed a little more of a relaxed evening dress that accentuated her figure, but allowed for some intake of food (or as I saw it from an engineer's standpoint: 'give and take').
    
      Viktoriya too, wasn't a size 2 (or 3) either due to her rather good height (almost as tall as I was). However, her lean dancer's body showed through. I heard eyes click as men (and women) around the store snapped towards her when she stepped from the dressing room. Shawn was a-ga-ga at Viktoriya's graceful form and movements. When the brunette stepped back in to change outfits, Shawn gave me a dirty look.
    
      "Stanley?"
    
      "Yes muffin?" I droned.
    
      "How did you meet Vicky?"
    
      Shawn had picked out her dress, a deep olive green affair with few frills, a demure cut, and a modest neckline. I was trying to picture what she would look like with the dress on and off when she prodded me with her foot.
    
      "Well?" She was tapping her finger impatiently.
    
      "Like she said," I gave her a wry grin, "We met in school."
    
      "What class?" Her voice seemed to rise.
    
      "English," I said truthfully then added, "And dance."
    
      "You?" Shawn scoffed, "Dance?"
    
      I had to grin. I wasn't much of a dancer; Shawn had seen that when I took her to her junior and senior proms. I didn't have any rhythm and I sure as heck didn't possess any musical talent like my flute playing darling.
    
      "What can I say," I said meekly, "I needed exercise."
    
      "Yeah right," Shawn pursed her lips, "Does Rachelle know about this?!"
    
      "Well, she will," I gave her a disarming smile. "Tonight."
    
      To my surprise, Shawn laughed, "That's awful, Stanley. You should tell her the truth."
    
      "I will," I twiddled my thumbs, waiting for Viktoriya to finish changing, "I just have to let Rachelle down easy."
    
      "I meant Vicky," my plump dumpling swayed her hips to bump mine. "Does she know how serious you and Rachelle were?"
    
      "She'll be fine," I replied dryly.
    
      She'll be more than fine, I wanted to add. Viktoriya wants to jump Rachelle's bones. Right after she dyke-grinds with you, or maybe at the same time. Picturing the three of them in a lesbian free-for-all gave me pause, and a half-hard.
    
      "Are you sure?" Shawn's sigh jerked me from my day-dreaming, "I mean I got pretty worked up myself."
    
      "That was some time ago," I pinched her cheeks, "And besides, you're special."
    
      "Grow up," she slapped my hand away. "You keep this up Stanley, and no girl will want you."
    
      I put on a sad face, "Not even you pumpkin?"
    
      "No," she stuck her tongue out at me, "'cause I can't share."
    
      "Hey I'm not a Ken doll at a play-date," I growled and took her hand.
    
      Shawn snorted and avoided my gaze. Normally, taking a girl by the hand meant some sort of tenderness or act of reconciliation, but for me, it meant that I wanted to persuade someone in a furtive manner. I coaxed Shawn as best I could, and tried to recall the good times we've had.
    
      "C'mon Shawn," I squeezed her hand gently, "Let's not argue okay? It's too nice of a day for that."
    
      She was about to say more when Viktoriya stepped out. Both of our jaws must've dropped and neither of us said a damn thing because we were wow'ed into speechlessness. The brunette wore a black backless dress that held itself up with a string around her neck and a tight wrap around her sweet, shaking tush. Her legs peeked out from the slit in the side as she stood tip-toed in front of the mirror.
    
      "I have the shoes for this," she said pragmatically while preening herself in the mirror, "What do you think, Stanislav?"
    
      "It's pretty good," I mumbled aloud then thought-spoke to her. 'Shoes hell Vicky; you have the body for that.'
    
      Viktoriya eyed me slyly. 'Call me that aloud and I will ...' an image of her aphixiating me between her thighs popped into my head.
    
      'Sounds fun, babushka.' I dared her mentally. 'I'm getting horny just thinking about it.'
    
      Viktoriya became visibly grumpy from that moniker (akin to 'grandmother', although it is street slang referring to unpleasant old hags). It was a sure sign that she wasn't aware of how visible we were, doing what we did in public. I glanced at Shawn to see if she noticed.
    
      "God, Vicky," Shawn practically oozed excitement, "You look GREAT!"
    
      Viktoriya blushed and I grinned. Shawn's optimistic honesty often disarmed people. That was one of the reasons Melanie loved hanging out with her: 'Shawn's awful fun, Stanley!'
    
      Shawn let me hold her dress so she could fiddle with Viktoriya's. While the girls were doing whatever the hell they did, I glanced at the price tag of the dress and nearly jumped out from my skin. $200 a pop for a piece of sheer fabric?
    
      'It is too much is it not?' Viktoriya chatted with Shawn as she thought-spoke to me. 'Why don't you charge it to some 'normal's' account?'
    
      'You mean steal the dresses?' I reproached her.
    
      'You are better than I at trickery, kisa.' Viktoriya laughed at one of Shawn's childish jokes, but her dark eyes betrayed the steel behind her request. 'And I will not wear anything else for tonight.'
    
      'Fine.' I gave her a tired grin and cast about for a solution. Many times, Viktoriya's selfish demands seemed nearly like exercises that Tseng concocted. I entertained the notion they did know one another. Perhaps it was all a trick to train me.
    
      'What are you worried about now, Stanislav? You'll definitely make me babushka if you keep worrying all the time.'
    
      Dammit. I was so distracted I must've allowed Viktoriya to pick up what I was mulling over.
    
      'Just wondering how I'm going to get $400 and spare change for sales tax.' I looked towards her way and saw Shawn waiting by the dressing rooms for Viktoriya.
    
      'You need $600. My dress is a little more.' Viktoriya connected with me through mind-sight. I could see her topless in the dressing room, slowly gathering her clothes. She looked straight into the mirror, pinched one of her nipples, and gave me a saucy wink.
    
      'I will dress slowly but you will need to hurry, kisa!'
    
      'Great.' I cast about looking for a sucker with money then caught sight of the bargain rack. A brash, bold plan came to me as I thought-spoke to Viktoriya. 'What is the UPC on your dress?'
    
      So, there you have it. I, Stanley Chen, committed fraud at the point of sale using sleight of mind. A little telekinesis frustrated the laser scanner so the saleswoman had to punch in the UPC codes herself. The substitution of different UPC codes meant that the girls' dresses went from $700 to less than $100 (plus tax).
    
      Of us three, Shawn was most surprised. Viktoriya knew I was up to something but not sure about the how. I gladly paid in cash to forestall anyone looking for a paper trail. As we headed back to the car, Viktoriya found time to admonish me.
    
      'You should try harder.' She scuffed the ground with her brogans, kicking away some unseen annoyance. I knew it was for show. She could've flicked whatever it was a half-mile with just a wayward thought.
    
      'I did the best I could.' I didn't feel like listening at the time. I reached and took Shawn by the hand as we walked.
    
      My angelic darling gave me a little smile but her eyes flicked past me to Viktoriya. I knew Shawn was nervous as usual. She felt threatened by the presence of the other girls save Melanie. Viktoriya wore a broad grin, but it masked brooding thoughts and even darker lusts.
    
      'We could have gotten away without paying at all.' The brunette walked closer to me, her steps matching mine's and Shawn's.
    
      'That would be shoplifting.' I opened the car doors to let her and Shawn in but kept my gaze on Viktoriya. 'And $40 a piece is affordable although I bet that saleswoman will get fired.'
    
      "Thank you, Stanley," Shawn hopped in.
    
      "You're welcome pumpkin," I replied audibly.
    
      'She can find another job.' Viktoriya's mental-tone was chilly but her voice was frightfully sweet as she said, "Thank you Stanislav."
    
      Her dark eyes regarded me darkly as she stepped into the car. I smiled back and dipped my head in acknowledgement but I had a stronger message in mind.
    
      'That's an unnecessary risk.' I mentally lashed back more violently than I had intended. At the corner of my eye, I saw Shawn rub her temples. Damn, I thought. I turned down my anger and thought-spoke gently to Viktoriya.
    
      'It's attention we don't need. We can get away with this occasionally, but it is like a fox who eats too many hens: sooner or later, the farmer will be aroused and he will ambush the fox.'
    
      'I've heard of that tale as a child.' Viktoriya thought back. 'Don't lecture me as if I am, Stanislav!'
    
      'It is simply good advice sweetheart.' I projected worry as I started the car. 'I don't want anything to happen to us.'
    
      My Baltic beauty gave me a mental sigh as we drove off. She changed the subject as she chatted with Shawn, comparing shoes, accessories, and other hen-club shit. I dropped off Viktoriya first at La Playa then dropped Shawn off at her place by the park. I would pick up the girls later.
    
      I headed back to my room at my parents' house. My room had been built and remodelled by my parents as a temporary residence for me. It was intended that I move out once I attended college (or graduated) but my academic career had given me a reason to stick around.
    
      For ten years, my room had seen a lot of traffic. Each of the five women had their own individual quirks: Janet always tried to present a cool, level-headed professional attitude, but she was often as mischievous and immature as Melanie. Shawn had two sides of her character: shy and less shy. She was reserved in public, but boisterous in private. Rachelle was perhaps the most superficial; however, deep down, I sensed she felt the need to prove herself.
    
      Viktoriya Lychenko, was my latest "house-guest" but I felt a greater degree of closeness with her than the others. It was relieving to have someone share similar powers _and_ be an inquisitive and quirky lover at the same time. Unfortunately, Viktoriya was moving clear across the country to pursue her studies in dance.
    
      It depressed me inwardly, but I wondered if it was for the best: Viktoriya was quite a handful, and New York City seemed to be the place to satisfy her appetites. The only thing that kept her from doing anything brash was fear of exposing herself because she was unable to hide her identity when mind-reading; nor would she risk unprotected sex with anyone save other girls.
    
      As I preened myself and picked out my clothes, I began wondering how it would all turn out, for each of the women had formed opinions about the others. Janet knew Melanie, but didn't seem all too favorable towards Rachelle. That feeling between Rachelle and Janet was mutual since the two hadn't met face to face. They knew of each only through me (when I broke the news) and the subtle remnants they each left behind in my room.
    
      Shawn knew about the existence of the other four (Janet, Melanie, Rachelle, and thanks to today, Viktoriya) although she had only met all but my First in person. Nonetheless, Shawn was in awe of the others due to her meek nature. Janet hadn't met Shawn, but Rachelle knew of her and didn't think too highly of how I was carrying on with Shawn when we were dating.
    
      The most audacious of my lovelies was Viktoriya. She knew _everyone_ by mind-sight or through my memories. At first, I wanted to limit her physical contact to Melanie. That was natural. The three of us were gifted, though in different ways: Melanie was empathic but very latent, and she could do little mischief apart from having her feelings hurt more than average then whining about it until the cows came home.
    
      Viktoriya was the tigress in my brood of lovelies. She was able to pulp coconuts by sheer willpower simply because she was irritated. And I was what Tseng called a "catalyst". I learned the gifts of the other two and boosted their potency, making Melanie hyper-sensitive and suggestive, and allowing Viktoriya to bend steel re-bars and tear new assholes.
    
      I frowned as I looped a belt through my dress slacks. I had little idea if Viktoriya was indeed as powerful as Tseng was; should things not go her way, I could have a potentially hazardous lovers' spat. Today she met Shawn. Tonight she will meet Rachelle. Things were progressing rather quickly and I wasn't wholly sure what could happen next.
    
      I mulled over the situation some more as I reached for my tie on the table in the kitchenette. That was when I felt something. It was a sudden presence, a strange one. I turned around and saw him sitting casually on the sofa where I had cradled Melanie when she was just a girl.
    
    ===============================================================================
      JUMPED BY A JUMPER
    ===============================================================================
    
      He was the thin-faced, sandy-haired fellow whom I saw when I was mind-reading Davies some years ago. Only now, he was a little chunkier and was dressed like a tourist: a plaid shirt, khaki cut-offs, and hiking boots. But what disturbed me the most was how he get into my house.
    
      How did he get in? My senses leaped into overdrive. I focused on the stranger's mind and began sifting and cataloging his thoughts before he even knew it. He was an orphan -- wait -- no, he was abused. His mother was dead, his father might as well be. A myriad of jobs he was good at came through: day laborer, craftsman, amateur movie-maker, courier. I thought I stumbled on what appeared to be a bank robbery. He was married to someone named Mildred or Molly or Millicent.
    
      My mind zipped back to the encounter back at the Federal building in the downtown / financial district. Tseng had mentioned something about this guy's foot after we left, Tseng also mentioned a name.
    
      "David ... Reese?"
    
      The stranger in my room shifted uncomfortably. Only a second had passed from the instant I turned around and saw him to when I uttered his full name.
    
      "Damn," the man named David muttered. "You guys are quick. I didn't even introduce myself yet."
    
      Actually, his name didn't come to me when I sifted through his memories; I had remembered the name because Tseng had mentioned it. The man known as "David" had several aliases floating around (Reese, Rice, Richards, etc.) and I wasn't sure which it was. Nevertheless, his mistake was his to make; I never revealed my vulnerabilities.
    
      "How'd you get in?" I asked. "What are you doing here?"
    
      Never show weakness, I recited from my exercises. Never show strength. Keep 'normals' mystified and unsure. That might be true about everyday people, but I wondered if it applied to the man in front of me. Speaking of weakness though, I glanced at his right foot. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but his foot was fully covered by his hiking boot.
    
      "It seems unfair you know my name," David soured, "When I don't know yours."
    
      "Stanley," I said simply. "I hope you have a good reason for coming here. And how did you come in --?"
    
      There was a dull _POP_ and David simply vanished just like in one of those cheaply produced science-fiction movies. You know the ones where the camera would stop filming, the actor would go off camera, and filming is resumed to give the audience the impression that the actor disappeared? Yeah, those kinda films.
    
      The hairs on my neck stood up as I realized I could still sense David nearby. I took four strides towards the small side window that peeked into the backyard. I pulled aside the blinds and saw him standing just outside my bedroom looking at his watch. He literally jumped when I tapped lightly on the window.
    
      _POP_. David vanished as soon as he saw me and I immediately felt his presence again, but in a different location. I whirled around and saw him sitting on my dining table in the kitchenette, his boots dangling over the polished vinyl floor.
    
      "Get the hell off the table," I snapped at him before he could say anything. "And take off your damn shoes."
    
      Under normal circumstances, I suppose I would've thought I was crazy, deluded or hallucinating. However, I wasn't normal. Nor were strange occurences all that odd to me. After years of witnessing what Tseng, Viktoriya, Melanie, and I could do, I was no longer under the impression everything could be taken at face value.
    
      This guy's vanishing trick was something I hadn't seen before, but it didn't take a mind-reader to know he was either displacing himself, or shooting out illusions into my mind that hinted that he could. For all I knew, he was an illusory image (although the dirt on the carpet later disproved this to me). All I knew at the moment was that he trespassed into my house, he mucked up the place with his dirty shoes.
    
      My voice held zero fear and when David saw I was fit to kick his ass, he vanished again with a _POP_. I felt his presence diminish dramatically on my mental radar. I knew he wasn't around, but at the same time, I knew he was still alive. It was a very, very small blip though.
    
      Interesting, I thought. But there was no time for experimentation and study. If this guy was actually displacing himself, he could come in behind me, and do whatever he wanted to. It took me a blink of an eye to know someone was nearby, but considering how fast he could displace, it could be all the time he needed to land the first blow.
    
      I backed myself into the corner of the inner room so the door to my studio and the kitchenette were in front of me. Now, if this guy showed up again, he'd have to do so in front of me where he would be watched. David _POPPED_ back in after minute or two, his boots replaced by slippers. I could now see that his right foot was indeed prosthetic from the ankle down. When he saw me standing in the corner of the room, his brow arched.
    
      "Sorry about that," David pointed to a chair. "May I?"
    
      I gestured but stood in my spot. "What do you want?"
    
      "I just wanted to talk," David sat down cautiously.
    
      I noticed he hadn't changed his garb, only his shoes. I suppose if I could displace myself, I would be dressed casually as well. It'd only take a heartbeat to go home.
    
      "Then talk," I said. "I have dinner plans in two hours and I don't like being late."
    
      "I'm sure you don't," David's mouth worked up a smile. "Look, I didn't mean to trespass."
    
      "Yet you did," I said coldly. "Entering a private residence without permission may be considered a prosecutable offence. I could've shot you."
    
      "Like you could," David narrowed his eyes, "A kid like you with a gun? Don't make me laugh."
    
      "How wrong you are," I felt my anger but kept my cool. "I don't need a gun, but you and your foot already know that, right?"
    
      At that, David stood up suddenly. I thought I felt he was going to do his displacement trick again, but he surprised me by doing nothing save looking angry and balling his hands into fists. I caught bits of his thoughts as he stood glowering at me from my kitchen: 'Fucking son of a bitch.' 'Calm down. Gotta calm down.' 'Can't wind up like that; either of them.'
    
      The last thought was interesting. David seemed to have two people in mind when that thought crossed his mind. One man I instantly recognized as Tseng. The second was an old white guy I hadn't seen before. David swallowed, composed himself, and relaxed his posture before he spoke again.
    
      "Look. I'm sorry if I got off on the wrong foot." At that he gave a dry laugh. I toned down my own stance and bade him to continue. "I didn't mean to startle you, but these days the NSA does a lot of its spying from satellites."
    
      David jerked a finger up towards my ceiling. I kept my mental focus on him, but flicked my eyes upwards in response. So, that could explain why the agency wasn't following me. They used goddamned robots whirling around outer space. No thoughts for me to track. Smart motherfuckers, these NSA bastards. When I looked back at David, neither of us moved from our respective spots.
    
      Good, I thought. We have sort of truce then.
    
      "Because of that, I'd rather talk to you indoors if you don't mind," David went on. "Unless the place is bugged."
    
      "Is it?" I asked.
    
      "Shit I dunno," he shrugged. "You're the mind-reader Stanley; you tell me."
    
      "Listening devices don't have thoughts," I replied.
    
      David threw up his hands, "Of course. How stupid of me."
    
      I was still wary, but his tone, body language, and thoughts didn't paint him as dangerous. Still, I remained in my corner to reduce the number of angles of attack. I realized I could affect any number of things in the immediate area should this guy try something funny: a set of carving knives were on the kitchenette counter, the chopping block was quite heavy, and small television would make suitable weapons if push came to shove.
    
      Thankfully, it didn't come to that. Whoever this guy was, he was gifted, but in a different way. I still heeded Tseng's warning though: 'Don't tip your hand.' I decided to fake some motions and see what I could get away with.
    
      "Well since you're here anyway ..."
    
      I pretended to close one eye then shifted a bit of my attention away from David. I made a mock gesture with my hand. The kitchen tap turned on and David took a noticeable step back. I almost wanted to laugh. Viktoriya and I had manuevered and manipulated so much kitchenware while doing other tasks it had become second nature with us. In the weeks leading up to our graduation at Berkeley, we had started messing around with manipulating fluid. In that, she was more successful than me.
    
      I picked out the smoothest glass cup from my collection and let it fill with cold water. I levitated the glass towards David and shut off the tap. He glanced at me, then at the cup before he accepted.
    
      "Don't drop it," I said from across the room. "You break it, you get me a new one."
    
      "Sure," David took a small swig, swished it in his mouth and swallowed. "Thanks."
    
      "Now that we've demonstrated we're civilized men," I said, "Tell me why you're here; did that Cox guy send you?"
    
      "Brian?" David set the glass down. "Hell no. He made me and wife's life miserable before I cut a deal with him."
    
      "So you don't work for the NSA?"
    
      "Just part time," he replied, "And only transporting things. Like the occasional person. I have to agree with the morality of it though. Part of my deal with Cox."
    
      I knew he believed it was true, so I decided to trust him for now. "What deal did you have with him?"
    
      "He was to leave me and Millie alone," David explained, "Otherwise, I send more of their goons on unwanted trips to random Third World countries and have the NSA fly them back at great expense."
    
      "Nice," I had to grin at that. This guy was certainly assertive with his gifts. "So you can take other people along with you when you do that trick of yours?"
    
      "Jumping," David nodded, "Yeah."
    
      I waited patiently for him to say more. When neither of us spoke, I broke the silence.
    
      "That's it?" I blurted.
    
      "What do you mean that's it?" David was incredulous. "I teleport for Chrissakes. That's not enough for you guys?"
    
      "Sounds like you're just a portable Star Trek transporter," I shrugged, "And who the hell are you calling 'you guys'?"
    
      "You and Tseng of course," he said then stopped. "Who else would I be referring to?"
    
      Try Viktoriya, Melanie, and a few more you haven't met yet, I nearly answered him aloud, but I didn't. I kept my mouth shut and shrugged instead.
    
      "You make it sound like we're buddies," I said acidly. "He's not my friend. In fact, I was quite happy before he found me."
    
      Although, I wondered, if I would've known as much as I did now.
    
      "Oh, I see."
    
      I sensed that David hadn't expected that, so I asked him another question. "You think we're like-minded?"
    
      "You're reading my mind?" he asked me accusingly.
    
      I shrugged again, and presented myself modestly as I did a few years before. "Just what you were about to say aloud, or what you were going to do."
    
      "I see," David looked a little disturbed. "I guess that's how you found me outside in your backyard, right?"
    
      "I knew where you were," I said simply. I left out the part where he nearly vanished once he was out of my immediate sight.
    
      "That figures," he scowled. "I have to think of where I'm going before I can, well, you know."
    
      "Jump?" I said helpfully.
    
      "Right," David stood up. "I suppose you wouldn't want to come to my place would you? Seems fair, since I dropped by yours."
    
      I risked a glance at the clock. We had been at this for nearly twenty minutes. I was fine time-wise, but if I dwaddled, I'd be late. Late for an important date.
    
      "I guess so," I said slowly, "Where's your place?"
    
      "New Mexico." David said it with a broad smile.
    
      Fuck you, you liar, I thought. He was lying right to my face, probably a reflex, or out of habit. David lived in Texas, but still New Mexico was still in the same damn area. Still, I sensed he didn't intend any harm; if he changed his mind later, I suppose I could see what I could do. Maybe restrain him by focusing on his skin or something. Was that how Tseng took out David's foot? Shackle a part of him when the latter jumped?
    
      "I guess you're going to do your twinkling trick," I stepped cautiously away from the corner, "What do I need to do?"
    
      David got up and pointed at the chair he was sitting on. "I don't want to touch you; I was told it was dangerous."
    
      "It could be," I admitted that much. I wondered who told him, Tseng or Cox?
    
      "Sit in the chair and hang-on tight," David said, "Like it was a theme park ride or something."
    
      I did so, but reluctantly. I sat nervously, but only because I wasn't sure about what to expect. I could still sense David's mental presence, but if he decided to attack me, I'd have very little time to ...
    
      _POP_
    
      I felt the chair wobble but that was it. I was staring at my room one instant, and the next I was in a dim cavernous room made of reddish rock. I inhaled and felt the hot dry air sting my lungs. I coughed and sneezed as my body felt the heat throttle my senses. Holy fuck. I bent over with my head between my knees. It was hot like Hong Kong. At least it was a dry heat. My mind reflexively concocted its brew of dry, sarcastic wit. I didn't laugh.
    
      "I'll be right back," David said.
    
      Things were moving so quickly, I didn't have a clear idea of what to do next. I suppose I could've mentally shouted at him, but I wasn't sure what would happen. Would he faint? Have an epileptic seizure? Vanish forever? I couldn't tell. As far as I know, he was going to leave me here. David disappeared with a _POP_ and I sat nervously for a moment before he appeared later in the same spot with a woman in his arms.
    
      "Thanks Davy." I caught her whisper. "Is that him?"
    
      "Yep," came the reply. When David reappeared, I immediately sensed a new "pulse". Like a new contact brimming in my consciousness. That could be bad. Could I not forget everyone I met? Would I have four billion (and counting) blips on my mental radar? I pushed that to the back of my mind.
    
      Nonsense. Must be Tseng's paranoia getting to me, I thought dourly.
    
      I instinctively "knew" that my parents, Andrew, Janet, Melanie, Viktoriya, and the other girls were fine. They were alive and hence "broadcasting". If I concentrated a little more, I could get a clearer picture of what the heck they were doing (mind-sight). My friends, like Faraz, I had to focus just a little more, but I knew I could do the same thing to them.
    
      So maybe it is merely a matter of paying attention, I realized. But back to the setting at hand. The woman David displaced with was a short-haired, stocky woman wearing spectacles. She looked to be about in her late 20s or early 30s and was dressed casually in shorts, a t-shirt, and open-toed slippers. It was then I noticed the cavernous room was really a cave. But what a cave!
    
      It was furnished better than my own room. Several bookcases were put against a wall. The cave's natural opening was fenced by a man-made wall of brick and mortar. The only light came from some portable lamps and a cooking stove. It was all very homey. I must've whistled, because the woman laughed as she bent over to grab a kettle.
    
      "You must be a cad," David said, "That's my wife."
    
      "No, it's not that," I stood and paced around. Hard wood flooring covered most of the cave floor. "This place is pretty cool. I never saw anything like this in design class. Not up close anyway."
    
      "Easy there Davy," the woman handed me a cup. "He likes what you've done to the place."
    
      "Thanks." I took the cup but it was too dark to see what it was.
    
      "It's too hot for tea or coffee," she said, "And you'd dehydrate drinking that stuff; that's just plain old water with a twist of lemon."
    
      "Oh," I sipped the lukewarm liquid and swallowed. "Thanks."
    
      "Millie," David introduced us. "This is Stanley, the guy I told you about."
    
      "Hi," Millie extended her hand. It was covered in a yarn mitten.
    
      "Pleased to meet you," I shook her hand then glanced at David, "I suppose you could've worn gloves as well."
    
      David shrugged. "I wasn't sure how close you and Tseng were."
    
      "I see."
    
      "So," Millie gauged me carefully, "Davy says you can read minds. Is that true?"
    
      "Yep," I said casually as I glanced around. I didn't need to have my gaze wander far. I had the strangest feeling that I could "feel" the objects and surfaces around me. Aside from David and Millie, I could sense how large the space was, what was in it, and how many things I could yank with my gift and throw with great force. I even manged to pick up on some of Millie's curiosity about me.
    
      "Do you know what I'm thinking now?" she asked as she passed a second cup to her husband.
    
      "Millie?" David sounded concerned.
    
      "I suppose I could." I managed a genial smile. "But I generally refrain from doing that unless I feel threatened."
    
      Yep. Threatened was the key word here. Besides, it would've been impolite to tear through the minds of one's hosts, especially if I needed one of them conscious to transport me back 1000 miles away in the blink of an eye.
    
      "Oh," Millie became embarrassed. "Well I'm sorry about that. That was rude of me."
    
      "It's all right," I shrugged. "I suppose anyone who'd know would ask me for lottery numbers."
    
      "Do they?" David asked.
    
      "Like surveillance devices," I reminded him, "Lottery tickets aren't alive. You're looking for someone who can predict the future. That's precognition. I just know what's going on now."
    
      "Ah, makes sense." Millie poured herself a cup before she set the kettle back down.
    
      "So much for striking it rich again, eh?" David rocked on his feet and my eyes flicked down towards his fake foot. I picked up a stray thought as he did so. Something about a million dollars and a bank. Hmm, I wondered inwardly. That may prove interesting. I filed it away in the back of my mind.
    
      "Well, I don't need to be a mind-reader," I formed my words carefully, "To know you and Tseng have bad blood between you two. Is there something I should know?"
    
      Millie became very quiet and looked at the young man. I could sense her apprehension climb. 'This guy is pretty direct.' 'I wonder if it's because he's used to getting what he wants.' Then, 'Shit. I wonder if he's reading our minds right now and not saying he can?'
    
      I didn't change my outward curiosity and pretended to remain focused on the prosthetic. David glanced down at his plastic prop then looked at me.
    
      "He didn't tell you?" he finally asked.
    
      I shook my head.
    
      "And you can't read his mind?" David said in disbelief. "I don't believe that."
    
      "It's not a big mystery unless you're not one of us," I lied, "I've never been able to get close to Tseng --" Yes I have. I can lie right to your face too, motherfucker, "-- and we're much more adept at hiding our thoughts from one another."
    
      Another lie. I bet Tseng could crack me open like a raw egg if he wanted to. I had nothing on Tseng; the man's mind was like a massively blank wall. I could sense something buzzing past it, but I couldn't quite get around that barrier. David and Millie both nodded, accepting my elementary explanation.
    
      Great, I thought. I just made some new acquaintances by lying my ass off. Wouldn't Janet be proud?
    
      "You're smiling," Millie looked at me wryly, "You sure you're telling the truth?"
    
      "What?" I composed myself and cleared my throat. "Just thinking about some friends."
    
      "Ah."
    
      "Their engagement party is tonight," I stuck with a simple explanation. "Can't stay too long. Ten more minutes maybe. See, I actually have to drive."
    
      "Yeah, sorry," David glanced at his watch.
    
      "When's your dinner?" Millie asked.
    
      "Seven thirty. But I have to pick up my friends." I left it at that, but David decided to throw in his barbs.
    
      "You mean the two girls you went to the mall with?"
    
      "Something like that," I answered coolly. I thought this was none of his business.
    
      "Whoa," Millie made a face. "Two girls? That sounds kinda fishy to me."
    
      "What do you mean?" My eyes narrowed and I adopted a tone fit to be used for nosy people.
    
      "No offence," David said, "But it sounds like mind control."
    
      "Absolutely not," I felt my anger rise then I controlled myself. There was no reason to let myself get provoked into a useless argument. My two hosts waited patiently for my explanation. I calmed down and explained, "One is a high school classmate. The other is a college sweetheart. They're both good friends, that's all."
    
      Well, good enough that I had sex with both. Heh-heh. Both of them stayed silent and I decided to push some buttons.
    
      "And besides, if I was that powerful," I said, "You'd think I borrow ten grand from FICO to go to college, graduate, and then work at an ass-end job? I'd have it easy by being the slickest con-man Wall Street ever saw."
    
      "Point taken," Millie held up her hand. She had tossed the mitten on a nearby dresser by now. "Speaking of jobs, I know. I counsel families and couples."
    
      "Oh, I see."
    
      Things were a bit more relaxed now, and I looked around their place. I noticed a row of newspapers cut and hung on one wall. I stepped closer to read them.
    
      "The Murrah Federal building?" I looked at them, "A rather macabre decoration choice wouldn't you say?"
    
      "It's something personal," David said quickly.
    
      "It's okay, Davy." Millie smiled wanly and took his arm. "I was just two blocks away when the bomb went off. If I was on-time for work, I'd be dead."
    
      "You worked nearby?" my brow picked up, "My belated condolences; it must've been hard."
    
      "Well I don't work in Oklahoma City," Millie started to explain, "But I was there for ..."
    
      "An appointment?" David and I both finished her sentence. He shot me a dirty look.
    
      "Well yes. It was a special case that time," she said. "I wanted to have lunch with a friend who transferred to the Oklahoma City office."
    
      "I get the feeling she didn't make it." I sensed the glumness in her voice.
    
      "No," Millie wore a reserved smile. "I guess you are a mind-reader after all, Stanley."
    
      I feigned an apologetic shrug, "To be fair, your husband gave you away."
    
      "Oh really?" she looked at David, "How so?"
    
      "Nervous and distracted thoughts are more read-friendly," I gave the truth. I should know. Aurora, Janet, and Rachelle all got zapped when I was distracted from sleep, having sex with them or thinking about having sex with them.
    
      Thinking of my treasured darlings, I grew very afraid. Would mind-reading have prevented a sudden attack? Even if I knew what was being planned, I wondered, how would I stop it? My worries gave rise to alarm once I turned back to the photo wall. A familiar face was in the corner of one of the papers: Jackson Davies.
    
      Although I had only seen him briefly when he was bound and gagged years ago, I had gotten to know his face from Davies seeing his reflection in the mirror. It was his mug in the police blotter on the frontpage. He was found beaten to a pulp near the residence of one of the Oklahoma City incident's prime suspects. Beaten dead.
    
      My eyes flicked between David's face and Davies' picture in the paper. I reached out and gingerly peeked into his mind. He hid the truth from his wife, but he couldn't from me. His eyes flickered with a sense of fear as he slowly realized why I was glancing between him and the newspaper on the wall, and why that particular portion of the frontpage wasn't cropped out when he mounted it. I stepped away from the wall of trophies and feigned ignorance with my trademark smile.
    
      To change the mood, I showed Millie what other tricks I could do. Earlier, I had shown David the gift of telekinesis I learned from Viktoriya. I pretended to close my eyes to concentrate and levitated my cup before his wife using the same fake gestures from before. I asked her to take it so I could relinquish my power. Millie maintained surprising control of her hands; she took the cup firmly and I released it from my concentration.
    
      "Wow," Millie was impressed. "That's better than mind-reading!"
    
      "You think so?" I sat back in my chair, acting tired and worn when in fact I was still quite alert and sharp.
    
      "If you two guys ever got together, you can do a real magic act," she laughed. "Heck, I could prance around in lace lingerie all day while you guys do all the work."
    
      David laughed but I was hardly in the mood to reveal myself so foolishly. I just smiled then went back to diving for the answer I wanted from the sandy haired man.
    
      "Tseng seems to have a lot of time," I said. "Why don't you ask him?"
    
      Their jovial mood soured quickly as soon as Tseng's name came up. Millie drifted off towards the bookcase, picked out a book and sat in a bean bag in the corner. I ignored her and pointed at David's prosthetic.
    
      "You want to tell me about that, or leave it a mystery forever?"
    
      "You sure you don't want to just pick my mind clean while you're at it?" he asked.
    
      "No thanks," I replied, "I'd prefer hearing it from you. It's what people do."
    
      I felt my two hosts were more at ease once they heard my reply. I didn't need to resort to any methods more than simple conversation. Not at the moment anyway. David sat down on the floor, dislodged his fake foot, and held it up at eye level.
    
      "You want to know what I think of Tseng?" David studied me carefully, as if he could read me. He couldn't. I waved my hand for him to continue.
    
      "The first time I met him, he attacked me," David said curtly, "I guess it's like what you did with that water glass, but he applied it to me. I jumped away, but not all of me came along."
    
      I wondered about his statement for a little bit. Viktoriya and I had experimented with restraining one another (and on one occasion, Melanie) using telekinesis, but we had to apply it to the body's external skin. It was a weird feeling when you could move but were kept in place because parts of your skin didn't move.
    
      It was an eerie enough feeling that we only used it here and there for practice, but never when we made love. It was a dangerous technique. I employed a variation of it on the thugs in Hong Kong by holding down their shoes instead of their feet. Looking at David's plastic foot, I suspected what Tseng did. Nice, I thought. So you can be taken down if need be. I filed that away for future use.
    
      "Gross," I made a face to express what I wanted them to see, but I hid my inner thoughts well.
    
      David nodded in agreement. Millie hadn't looked up from the book she was reading, but I knew she was eavesdropping, surreptitiously checking on her husband. I sensed the great affection they shared. It was almost as great as what I shared with my own darlings. David stuck his leg back into his foot's socket and stood back up.
    
      The two of us talked a little more. I told him my area of study (but not the school) and lied about nearly everything else by omitting them. Compared to him, my own background came off surprisingly uneventful. David briefly touched on how he and Millie met (in New York City) and about how they had shared getting into trouble with Cox and the agency. However, I was most surprised when he mentioned that his mother was killed by a terrorist's bomb back when I was still a gangly teen in high school.
    
      "If you excuse me for being blunt," I asked, "Where and when was it?"
    
      "1992. Somewhere in Greece," he said glumly. "That's what got me started. I took out some hijackers. The agency took notice. The rest is what you'd call history."
    
      "So, now what?" I felt mildly uneasy. "You transport me or Tseng or a Special Forces guy to an airport and take out everyone like in Operation Wolf?"
    
      "What's Operation Wolf?" David asked.
    
      "A videogame about a white dude and a black dude saving hostages in the Middle East," I explained unhelpfully. Hey why not? The game came out around the time when his mother blew up, and I was in high school playing stupid videogames with Andrew between sessions of studying and fucking. Besides, it was relevant to the conversation.
    
      "I don't think so," David shook his head, "I don't think the agency knows what it needs. Tseng might, but I don't trust him. That's why I followed you; I saw you at the shopping center with your, ahem --" despite being clear across the room, Millie cleared her throat so we both could hear, "-- friends. I took my wife home and then followed you. I wanted to talk to you and warn you about Tseng and Cox."
    
      "But you said you've dealt with Cox," I said.
    
      "Yes and no," David scratched his chin. "He knows if he or his spook squad screws with me, they will have their hands full. I don't know about you though. You need to watch out."
    
      "You're telling me this, why?"
    
      "You can read my mind," David laughed nervously. I caught a brief flicker of a thought: 'God I hope he doesn't say I beat up Davies when I heard about Oklahoma City.' 'Millie'd go ballistic.' 'This guy sounds okay though.' 'I just got to convince him he's better off without them.'
    
      "I just don't want the government screwing up someone else's life." He said is so solemnly, I would've fell for it if I wasn't a mind-reader. David was simply trolling for allies so he could quit the agency.
    
      "Well, cool. Thanks for your concern." I lied too. I didn't tell him that if I wanted to, I'd compromise his ass to Tseng in a heartbeat to keep my girls safe from any of his meddling. Tseng would likely take off more than just a foot the second time. And if he didn't, I wager I probably could. In that case, good riddance to you and your fat bitch wife.
    
      "What about Tseng?" I asked. "I'm guessing he's part of the package."
    
      "I don't know what kind of deal he has," David shrugged. "For a guy who professes not liking someone, you sure look out for him."
    
      "You haven't seen what he can do," I blurted. I then kicked myself for being so hasty with my words. I must be some kind of attention junkie.
    
      "Wait," Millie hopped up from her corner. "What can he do?"
    
      I took a slow drink from my water glass as she joined us again. I needed time to phrase my words carefully. I needed discipline and control, I thought wanly. Tseng's own words.
    
      "What can he do?" David repeated and I sensed his apprehension grow.
    
      Plenty, was what I wanted to say but I simply echoed what Viktoriya and I could do, with a little ambiguity to leave 'em guessing. I instinctively knew she and I were nowhere as well versed as Tseng was in our gifts, and likely nowhere near as experienced applying them.
    
      "Think of what I did but far more menacing," I put it simply. "Probably find and crush a missile sub with a thought."
    
      "That's about what I figured," David sounded glum. "Well, since we're likely going to work together more down the road, it made sense to me that we at least have some level of trust. I'd hate to lose any more body parts."
    
      "You won't," Millie put a hand on his shoulder. How cute. I winced inwardly as I checked out Millie. Damn, she was fat, and not in a cute way. Unlike my cuddly Shawn, I could see Millie's thighs wobble when she moved, along with a slight paunch. If David's wife wore corduroy pants, she'd never be able to sneak up on anyone, because her fucking groins would make a zip-zip-zip sound as she walked.
    
      "Well, I've got nothing against anyone," I said then lowered my voice, "But don't ever come into my house, uninvited, ever again. I'll do you a favor and won't drop in uninvited either."
    
      "I understand Stanley," David nodded. "I'm sorry."
    
      "I guess this time will have to be an exception," I relented. "I don't have my keys with me. Can you take me back now? I have some very beautiful ladies I need to keep a date with."
    
      "Of course," Millie chuckled. "Girlfriends?"
    
      "Just friends," I gave her the obscure answer. "And friends of friends."
    
      "All right," Millie waved her hand slightly. "It was nice to meet you Stanley."
    
      "Yeah," I said. "You too. Good night."
    
      "G'night!"
    
      "Just wait a bit can you?" David held his wife close. "I have to tuck her in."
    
      Millie laughed and kissed him as they both vanished with a _POP_. As soon as they vanished, I quickly leaped to my feet and ran to the edge of the cave. Looking over the edge, I saw the wide expanse of desert being lit up just by the light of the gibbous moon. I was in the middle of nowhere. I turned my attention back towards the cave interior and walked slowly back to my chair.
    
      I needed to sort out what David had said versus what I had read to segregate the fact from fiction. Sometimes, fiction was used as fact in our business. I had to categorize and then be able to act with that information at a moment's notice.
    
      The last few thoughts he had before he displaced with his wife were still in my mind. I glimpsed a dimly lit apartment with a bed and furnishings like normal people. Clearly, this place in the desert was a neutral meeting place or some shit. If he could displace at will, he probably had his own nice safe place or, as I fantasized, several places around the world where he could travel to in a heartbeat.
    
      As I paced over the smooth hardwood floorboards and wondering how much such flooring generally cost, something clicked in me. David's recollection about a bank and his remark about "striking it rich (again)" suddenly became clear.
    
      "He robbed a bank!" I soured and looked the place in a new light. "Motherfucker!"
    
      As I my words echoed lightly off the cave walls, I sensed someone in the room with me. It was David.
    
      "Did you say something?" He wasn't surprised that I had turned completely around to face him as he arrived.
    
      "Nothing," I said. "Just wondering aloud when you'd get back here. I thought I had to fly back for a minute."
    
      "You can fly?" David asked.
    
      "No," I lied, "But I might take up that suggestion and try. Can't be that hard with a little experimentation, right? Now, can you take me back please?"
    
      I sat back on my chair and I felt David take hold. _POP_. I was back in my room in San Francisco, and felt the air temperature drop ten degrees Fahrenheit. I rose and turned to face David. I sensed he was about ready to leave and held up my hand.
    
      "Wait," I said, "You can go anywhere you can see right?"
    
      "Yeah," he replied.
    
      I drew back the blinds of the side window so David could see my backyard.
    
      "You can go there if you need to," I said, "Then give me a call or knock on my side door and I'll let you in."
    
      "What if you're not here?" he asked, "What then?"
    
      "Then stick around or knock on my parents' door and ask where I went," I said. I then wondered if it was a good idea to let him do that. Oh well, too late to put the cat back into the bag.
    
      "And if you think you can come back with out me knowing," I hardened my voice, "Think again."
    
      David displaced back a step with a _POP_.
    
      "I will know," I continued my lie, "And if you disturb anything, I'll know."
    
      "How?" he asked.
    
      "Psychic emanations," I said with a straight face, "And do you think you can lie to a telepath?"
    
      "No. I believe you." David stepped towards me and looked through the window. His blue eyes studied the place. He closed his eyes for moment. He was memorizing it, I knew, and filing it for a future destination.
    
      "Okay Stanley. See you around."
    
      He vanished with a _POP_. I sensed David's presence fade from my awareness and I knew he was far enough away that I couldn't sense him (unless he suddenly learned how to hide himself from me). I closed my eyes, extending my awareness over the city and waited. Nothing out of the ordinary near Shawn's, Viktoriya's, Janet's, Rachelle's, Melanie's or my other friends' places.
    
      After a few minutes, I was sure the displacer was nowhere in the city nor near any of the ones I held dear. I looked at the clock and realized I still had a little time left. I saw where David had left his dirty shoe prints on my carpet. I grabbed the vacuum cleaner and ran it over the afflicted patch until no more desert dirt could be seen. I packed away the vacuum, grabbed my keys and jacket, and headed out the door.
    
    ===============================================================================
      UNHEALTHY DIETS
    ===============================================================================
    
      I was glad I picked up Viktoriya before Shawn for the dinner. I didn't want to expose what I knew about Tseng, but the existence of a person who could displace his own body was something I wanted to get off my chest. I parked haphazardly in front of the Lychenko's apartment building and got out. As I walked to her front door, I tried to phrase and re-phrase how I would tell Viktoriya.
    
      I rang the doorbell, and a thickly accented voice called out, "Who is it?"
    
      "It's Stanley Chen." I intoned as clearly as possible. "I wish to speak with Viktoriya Lychenko."
    
      There was a brief commotion then the speakerphone went dead. The apartment's front door buzzed and I opened it. As I climbed the stairs slowly, I came to the conclusion I couldn't break the news about this to Viktoriya without creating more questions than I had answers for. Each one would lead to more questions, until I couldn't fabricate any more answers to cover the truth.
    
      David sought me out because we were both (somehow) involved in the NSA. How'd I get contacted by the NSA in the first place? Tseng requested that I show up. It would've been fine if Tseng was a forthright and outstanding person, but I had serious doubts. And if Tseng's tale about the rogue telepath, the "Russian" as he called him, turned out to be a tale that hit too close to Viktoriya then that would be tragic. I shuddered to think of the possibilities.
    
      Ultimately, I decided to keep David's thing a secret. I suppose it would've been the polite thing to do anyway, since he was gifted as I was. But so was Viktoriya. I winced when I realized that. Why was I hiding that part of me from Vika?
    
      "Are you all right, Stanislav?" Viktoriya peeked past the small crack of her door. I was surprised to hear her speaking aloud. Then I realized her folks were just behind the door.
    
      "I'm fine."
    
      I stepped in and found an old couple sitting in the room past her. Well they were not THAT old. Her father looked a little like Joseph Stalin, or the moustache did anyway. He was a portly fellow and looked rather like a Stalin who had gotten hefty, and dressed like a college professor. Her mother was a tall, skinny beauty. Her hair was held down with a yarn shawl or something, and made her look very gypsy like. A small beauty mark was under her left eye, next to a very hawkish but regal nose.
    
      "My papa and mama," my Baltic beauty whispered. Then she thought-spoke: 'If you don't understand them, let me translate. God help you, kisa, if you anger them. I will never hear the end of it and they will never let me see you again.'
    
      'I'll be good.' I grinned and bid them both a solicitous hello. 'As long as you don't tell them what you do in that room of yours.'
    
      'SHUT UP, rodnoi*! [* Russian: Kinsman] I am serious!' Viktoriya shuffled nervously to sit by her mother. I noticed she had put on that scandalous black dress from earlier in the day, but she had prudently zipped up with an old drab jacket. With it, she appeared quite modest, despite those sharp black heels on her feet.
    
      [** Author's Note: Rodnoi is often used in a fraternal manner, when two individuals are close as siblings. Viktoriya's usage here hints she considers Stanley more like a brother than her lover, or a very intimate lover who is practically family (i.e., husband)]
    
      "So," the old man rumbled in his accented English, "Viktoriya says she meet you in the Berkeley yes?"
    
      "Er, no," I wondered how much of the story my Slavic siren had told them. "I knew Vika back in high school."
    
      Mrs. Lychenko murmured something to her daughter and Viktoriya mumbled an answer while Mr. Lychenko furrowed his brow.
    
      "What I meant to say," I clarified myself, "Was that while I knew Vika was in my school, I actually first spoke with her when we were in City College."
    
      I left it vague. Shit. Let them do some guesswork. Her father, Mr. Lychenko, seemed a decent fellow. Viktoriya must've known I was surreptitiously reading them because I caught a little warning from her.
    
      'Don't press too deeply. They knew my brother and I were a little special. I don't want them to be afraid of you.'
    
      I eased off my focus and nearly had multiple heart attacks. The Lychenkos _knew_ about Viktoriya and her brother?
    
      Jeezus, I suddenly felt ill. I nearly fell but Viktoriya propped me up with her telekinesis.
    
      'Sorry, kisa. I will explain later.' She shifted a little and smiled to hide her effort. 'Please stand up Stanislav, I cannot hold you forever.'
    
      I put strength in my legs and chatted as amicably as I could with Viktoriya's parents. Mr. Lychenko made it clear that I was free to see Viktoriya, but I was not to interfere with her studies. Mrs. Lychenko was quiet throughout, but I could sense she was gauging my character from my answers.
    
      Heck, for all I know, maybe these two were reading my thoughts. As if to test them, I briefly pictured Viktoriya brand spanking nude, doing the most vulgar leg split on my bed, her feral howling rattling the windows while I porked her sloppily from behind.
    
      'STANISLAV!!' It was Viktoriya and her face was red with embarrassment. 'Pay attention to papa please!'
    
      Neither her father or mother caught the imagery or thought-speak that rattled in their midst. In fact, Mr. Lychenko was wrapping up his little spiel about how important some institute in New York was to his daughter and her future. I unfettered a little bit of my self-control and spoke simply, but eloquently about my feelings for Viktoriya.
    
      As I spoke, I opened up to my darling dancer and let her know that I meant every word I said. It was short, simple, and most of all, I spoke from the heart.
    
      "Viktoriya will start her studies on time," I promised, "Even if I have to take her out to New York myself."
    
      Father Lychenko nodded and that was about it. We were a little late thanks to Viktoriya's parents; we hurried to the car so we could pick up Shawn for dinner.
    
      "You meant all that," Viktoriya said gloomily in the passenger seat, "About taking me out to New York."
    
      "It's what you want to study," I replied with half an ear. I detested talking either aloud or using though-speech while I was driving.
    
      "It is not what I want," she sighed, "Not everything."
    
      "Sometimes, one can't have it all," I replied, "You said you'd explain about your parents, darling. How much do they know?"
    
      'Just that I can sometimes hear their thoughts, and they can hear mine.' Viktoriya thought-spoke in a gloomy tone. 'But nothing like what you and I do now. They say that we are --' she used Russian that meant "kindred on a metaphysical plane".
    
      "Oh I see."
    
      I visibly relaxed. Maybe the Lychenkos were like Yu-Ching then. Latent listeners or something. Viktoriya gave me an odd stare as I turned down the street to Shawn's house.
    
      "You sound relieved," Viktoriya let her words hang as I pulled up to the house.
    
      "I am."
    
      I didn't know what else to say as I stopped the car. I was about to open the door when I stopped and turned towards her.
    
      "Viktoriya," I said quietly, "It's a dangerous world we live in. I just don't want anything bad to happen to you."
    
      "Like it did to Pyotr." It was not a question.
    
      "Your half-brother?" I asked.
    
      'Yes.' Came her reply. As strong as she was, I felt she was still haunted by her half-brother's disappearance. I reached over and kissed her deeply. My feelings for her flowed as honey would into her mind. It said more than what spoken words ever could.
    
      'Thank you, Stanislav.' Viktoriya thought-spoke as she gently touched my cheek. 'You are so thoughtful and sweet.'
    
      'So are you, milenky*.' [* Russian: Dear/dearest] I kissed her lightly on the nose and stepped out of the car. I jogged up to Shawn's house and rang the doorbell. My auburn-haired angel popped out through the door.
    
      "I'm late already, Mom!" Shawn hollered. "See you later!"
    
      "Don't be too late!" I heard a voice call past the door. Mrs. Horten had met me several times before when I took her daughter to school dances in years past. She knew me enough that I wouldn't try anything foolish, or so she thought. I held Shawn by the hand and escorted her to the car. We could both see Viktoriya powdering her nose through the window.
    
      "What took you so long?" Shawn sounded annoyed, "You're usually on time."
    
      "Traffic," I opened the car door. "Watch your head, pumpkin."
    
      "Watch yours," she flicked a finger at my crotch. "I know why you're late."
    
      It was useless to argue, so I made sure Shawn was safely settled in her seat before I shut the door behind her. Faraz told me the whole shin-dig was at a pretty fancy Mediterranean place on California Street. We found it after circling the block a few times looking for a place to park. Finally, a car pulled out and I managed to squeeze my humble sedan into the space.
    
      "Parking sucks in San Fran," Shawn wriggled out of her wind breaker. "Stanley, do you have a coat?"
    
      "Just my jacket, sorry." I had stepped out and opened the car doors for the girls. "Are you cold?"
    
      "Not me, you dummy," she pointed. "Vicky's dress is backless. She'll be the one who's cold!"
    
      "Oh."
    
      Indeed, Viktoriya had quite the dress. She got out of her funk and smiled lecherously. I groaned because I knew what she was thinking. She was thinking about snuggling against those cozy D-sized puffballs attached to Shawn's chest.
    
      "I am fine," she took Shawn's hand. "You are too kind."
    
      My angelic darling trembled a bit from Viktoriya's touch. The dark-haired siren let her hand slip away, but her gaze didn't waver until I interrupted them by offering my arms.
    
      "Ladies?"
    
      They looped their arms through mine and I lead us in. I came into the quiet bustling restaurant, a beautiful girl on each arm. Shawn had a full, curvaceous body wrapped in a dark green dress. Under the light, its fabric shimmered when she walked. Her gold hoop earrings and reddish-auburn hair contrasted well with her dress, and I noticed some of the women took time out to admire her good sense of fashion. The men in the meantime, really dug the cleavage she put out.
    
      Viktoriya though, clearly got most of the attention. She had done her raven black hair into a modern beehive. It may have sounded out-of-date on paper, but it clearly showed off her athletic body. The black backless dress easily showed off her elegant neck, back, and shoulders. With each step she took, the slit in her dress parted just briefly to show her dancer's legs. I almost heard eyes click as she detached from my side and strode towards the dinner party. All of the other guests were there already. After I congratulated Faraz and Ghandia, he took me aside.
    
      "I'm sorry you didn't come with Rachelle," he said. "I didn't know. Ghandia just let me know today."
    
      "That's okay Faraz," I shook my head. "I don't blame anyone. Not even Rachelle."
    
      "That is very noble of you my friend," Faraz said in a hushed voice, "But surely bringing two women tonight will make Rachelle even more jealous?"
    
      "I suppose that's the point. Here," I slipped him a red packet, "I ain't married yet, but might as well start. I didn't know I was bringing Vika along; she's pretty high maintenance."
    
      'I heard that.' Viktoriya pinged me though she was out of earshot. 'Don't think I don't know what you men are saying about us women!'
    
      'It's just guy talk.' I replied in thought-speak. 'Why don't you go check out Heidi?'
    
      Her mood changed immediately as she took up my suggestion. 'Why that's a great idea, Stanislav!'
    
      "So what?" Faraz grinned and sneaked a glance a Viktoriya. "If she is as tireless as you've been telling me, maybe I should pay you for the privilege."
    
      I feigned pocketing my gift, "If you say so."
    
      We laughed quietly. I did feel bad bringing two dates to an official engagement dinner. But if I had a choice, I would've brought all my girls.
    
      "Hey Stanley," Faraz elbowed me, "This is too much my friend."
    
      I had slipped him $300, which was a little on the heavy side for a Mediterranean meal.
    
      "Sam-baikmun," I said, "Sam-sam-mang-mang*. It's something to keep your engagement lively pal. Don't jinx it." [* Cantonese: 300 dollars, rhymes with 'Lively' and 'joie de vivre'.]
    
      Faraz nodded and pocketed my gift without further complaint. We headed back to our places at our tables. As I sat down, I looked over the guests for familiar faces: Viktoriya, Shawn, Heidi, her brother Patrick, her fiance Jon-Peter, Ghandia, Faraz's sister Ami, his parents, and ...
    
      "Rachelle." I sat across from her, nestled between Viktoriya and Shawn.
    
      "Hello Stanley." I heard Rachelle's chilly reception before I even sensed her. That was how far we drifted apart since graduation, what? Four years ago? My black beauty had definitely grown furthest apart from me despite our times together.
    
      She was wearing something similar in style to the one she wore when we hit the town as an item (just a different color): a burgundy sleeveless dress that bared her shoulders and showed off that luscious chocolate colored skin of hers. The dress simply was an extension of her dark skin though. Rachelle had on small gold earrings, but what arrested my attention most was a thin promise band on her hand.
    
      Was that an engagement ring? Rachelle must've caught me looking, because she clacked her fingernails over the tabletop.
    
      "It's been a long time."
    
      "Yes it has," I nodded.
    
      I noticed Ghandia had busied herself with a forced conversation with Shawn. I shifted my gaze to Heidi and found her and Jon-Peter chatting with Viktoriya. I dipped quickly into everyone's minds and got a broad picture of what they were trying not to talk about. The pasty-faced fellow sitting next to Rachelle was alternating between toying with his tie and sneaking glances at Shawn, me and Viktoriya.
    
      That must be Craig, I realized.
    
      "I should've written you more, sugar." I forced myself to smile at Rachelle and her pale date.
    
      "I wish you had."
    
      She smiled back but lowered her gaze. I read her thoughts easily: 'I didn't want it to end like this.' 'How do I tell him I'm engaged?' 'I didn't even have the guts to send him the invitation.' 'Well he deserved it anyway.'
    
      So she was engaged was she? That could explain the chilly reception I was getting. I was Faraz's friend, but once I had betrayed the queen of the hive, she had cast me out of her circle as ignominiously (and as quietly) as possible. I didn't fritter time on such inconveniences. I extended my hand towards "Craig" and greeted him.
    
      "You must be Craig," I introduced myself. "Rachelle told me about you last time she visited."
    
      "Oh. Hi," he extended his hand. Despite being engrossed in a conversation, Viktoriya nearly thought-screamed when she saw me stick my bare hand out.
    
      'Kisa! What are you doing?!' Her face was serene, but I sensed her heart pounding with alarm.
    
      'It's all right. I'm just going to shake his hand.' I thought back. 'I brought you along because you wanted to meet Rachelle, so talk to her already.'
    
      Viktoriya smiled and held up a finger to Heidi's last question so she could turn to Rachelle.
    
      "I am Viktoriya," she introduced herself. "Stanislav has told me much about you."
    
      "Has he now?"
    
      Rachelle studied her then her eyes flicked over to Shawn. As I shook Craig's hand, I could sense Rachelle's anger towards me and her dark thoughts: 'I'm not good enough for him now?' 'He treated me well but he still saw other women.' 'How can I forgive him?' 'He had the NERVE to bring that pudgy tramp along!' (Shawn, I realized) 'And who the hell is this under-dressed slut?!' (in Rachelle's defence, Viktoriya was only wearing the dress and a black G-string) 'He didn't even bring that other girl along.' (Janet, my lovely First) 'What a cad!!' (referring to me) 'But oh we had such good times together.'
    
      Poor girl, I thought as I shifted my focus on Craig. From our brief handshake, I picked up enough on him to form a stereotypical behavioral profile. Craig Simmons was a typical Southern Californian. Although he was white, he was a hip-hop star wannabe, a "whigger", or at least that was what he told himself. He was certainly the whitest "black" man I ever met.
    
      As I carefully delved deeper, I saw how he had met Rachelle. He shared classes with Ghandia because he was behind a year or two. When he showed up at Ghandia's dorm, he saw Rachelle and switched targets, especially after he saw how Faraz would've kicked his ass for trying something with Ghandia. However, Rachelle was vulnerable. He worked his way in as her friend. Then, as my correspondence with Rachelle began slackening in frequency and effort, he started poisoning her mind by dropping hints that maybe I was screwing around on her (which was true, Rachelle and I had an unofficial open relationship).
    
      After sharing a few drinks after her second set of finals, Craig slipped half-a-rufie into her third or fourth drink. He didn't want her completely out because he wanted her awake, but he wanted to be there in control. He date-raped her. Scuzzed his filthy ooze right into her. Craig intentionally did what I had done by accident. Unlike me though, he didn't apologize; he had his way with her a second time. Rachelle had every intention to tell me but changed her mind at the last moment.
    
      Why? I had told her about Janet. More specifically, it was my casual attitude towards Rachelle that frustrated her. She couldn't read me correctly and thought I wanted to remain just friends.
    
      So, after Heidi's and Jon-Peter's engagement, Rachelle returned to Los Angeles and found Craig waiting for her. He begged her for forgiveness, pleaded his case. In her moment of weakness, Rachelle succumbed. That was when she wore his ring: a symbol of their perverted relationship. Craig wasn't one of the gifted, but he was just as dangerous.
    
      Had I not been brought up under Tseng's tutelage the past few years, I wager I would've blasted Craig's mind right there, and then found some way to keep him alive until I had my fill of torturing him to death. To my credit, I didn't do anything rash. The next smile I mustered was one of the hardest things I did in my life; it was harder still to sit down, bottling up my hatred. Viktoriya must've felt something amiss, because she offered to pour me a drink, even when my glass was nearly full.
    
      "Thirsty, lyubimy*?" [* Russian: Beloved.] she asked aloud to draw my attention then added in thought-speech: 'What's wrong, kisa? I was sure everyone could've heard you just now.'
    
      "I need a drink," I drained my glass and suppressed the urge to gag. The ouzo was awful.
    
      "Stanley?" Shawn prodded me under the table, "You okay? I thought you didn't want to drink because you don't want to, y'know: glug-glug, vroom-vroom, thump-thump?"
    
      "I'm fine," I fussed with my napkin.
    
      Shawn's paraphrasing of an episode of the Simpsons reminded me how much Rachelle and I had shared. I didn't want to think about it. I wanted to take Craig out behind the restaurant and beat him to death. I imagined stringing him up, cutting off his cock so he could be gagged with it. I then fantasized about spending the rest of the night shoving a whole set of kitchen knives into his body until he'd kiss my ass to kill him. Too bad I never managed to do that.
    
      I didn't remember much of the rest of the evening. I may have chosen not to, but it was more than likely Viktoriya who did her best to blot out the memory. I remembered cheers and toasts, the bland food, and smiling a lot, but I ate mostly in silence. Faraz, Ghandia, Heidi, and Jon-Peter, the old gang, all were aware of what was going on and chose to tip-toe around it. Rachelle and I didn't talk much about that night afterwards, and it remained a sore spot in our relationship for quite some time.
    
      I felt pretty rotten about throwing my responsibilities out the window and sinking into some self-imposed miasma. I was lucky the girls didn't just ditch me. Viktoriya must've wowed onlookers by helping me to the car. Little did they know she was bearing most of the weight with her mind, not her body. Shawn was the only one who had brought along her driver's license. As she drove back to my place, I could hear the girls physically and mentally as they chattered.
    
      'Shameful.' 'He's not a drinker.' 'What're we going to do with him?'
    
      The girls helped me into my room and I crashed on the sofa. I heard a series of electronic beeps and dial-tones. Murmurs of voices came through then came the inevitable click of the handset. I could only guess the girls were taking turns calling their parents that old reliable Stanley Chen was too drunk to take them home.
    
      Some gentleman I turned out to be. My sense of responsibility was thrown out that night; the alcohol had really freed my mind from any restraints. I felt angry, not at Rachelle but at myself. Craig was simply a convenient focus for my anger, but I dreamed about something different.
    
      I consciously desired happiness and I suppose my unconsciousness provided it. I dreamed about Janet and Shawn. They were sitting at a pavilion having tea. They had donned the traditional cheong-po and were engaged in deep conversation. I marveled how a foreign girl in such garb was oddly erotic. One of the girls uncrossed and crossed her legs, briefly flashing pussy, and I suddenly realized that they were not wearing undergarments!
    
      Whoa, I thought. Awesome!
    
      Presently, Shawn brought a flute or fife to her lips. Melanie was sitting beside a zither, her delicate hands strumming a soothing tune. After the initial beats, Rachelle and Viktoriya stepped in, their graceful movements moving in tune with the soothing music. I noticed they were dressed in robes with a shorter cut (so they can dance without tripping) and silk pants.
    
      I sat back, relaxed and at ease in this eerie dreamscape. I turned and saw Janet put her hands atop mine. Her smile was the one I remembered best as a young boy. Then she spoke in a most impassioned voice: Dai-yeh yousai wodei chuen-ga. Li-yiga-hoysum-le*?" [* Cantonese: Are you happy now sire (or 'lordship' but used in a familial sense) now that you have taken us into your household?]
    
      There was a strange buzzing sound coming from the lakeside. I turned to see if I could localize it, and found I was in my room. My bed covers were on me and the phone buzzing. I felt lazy, so I reached out with my telekinesis to flick the ringer switch off. That was better. Next, I tried to move and found I was crushed into immobility. I moved my arm and bumped someone's head.
    
      "Ow," I heard a complaint. My eyes fluttered as I struggled to wake up. What the hell?
    
      I knew I was in the inner room: my bed had me facing away from the sun when it rose. I slowly awoke to find that there was much mischief when I took drunk last night. Shawn rubbed her head at the point of impact then turned away, baring her entire bare backside towards me. She was nude, I realized. I looked down and saw I was undressed as well.
    
      'Good morning, kisa.'
    
      'Vika?' I thought-spoke. 'What happened?'
    
      'We took you home then we had a little party.' She stretched and turned slightly so she could drape her arm over me. 'Feeling better?'
    
      'A little. How bad was it?' I asked, fearing the answer.
    
      'Not all that bad.' Viktoriya squeezed my leg. 'I had to rummage a little more than normal to get you excited.'
    
      'How much rummaging?' I felt the weight of both girls, but I couldn't feel my arms at all.
    
      'You want to marry five of us?' Her thought-speech was plain and to the point.
    
      Apparently the dream I had was something she had done. Viktoriya wasn't as adept at manipulating thoughts and illusions. That time at the cafe, she was able to pass off napkins as money because I was there to "boost" her gift's potency. I suppose she was able to weave me a dreamscape so I'd get a hard-on or something.
    
      But how deep did she go, I wondered. I feared she'd find out about Tseng, but I sensed none of that from Viktoriya. Instead, I framed an answer to her question.
    
      'Yes. I'd like that very much.' I thought-spoke.
    
      'You are greedy.' She chided me. 'You know the Quran only allows a man to have four wives?'
    
      'Faraz told me the Prophet Mohammed had ten.' I scoffed mentally. 'I'm just half way to beating his record.'
    
      'You are so bad, Stanislav!' Viktoriya's audible giggle roused Shawn.
    
      "Uffuck," my Anglo angel groaned. "What a night. Stanley? Are you okay?"
    
      "Yeah," I answered.
    
      "Good, because for a moment I thought that Vicky --" she turned around and sat up eyes wide.
    
      "OH MY GOD!!"
    
      Her expression made me smile. Viktoriya had the temerity to laugh. Shawn looked at her then glared at me.
    
      "Stanley!!" she hissed loudly. That was a good sign; Shawn was awake enough to realize my parents would've heard any screaming.
    
      "What?" I finally felt blood pumping through my arms again. I painfully propped myself up with a little telekinetic assistance from myself and Viktoriya.
    
      'Spasee-ba*.' I thought to her. [* Russian: Thank you (generic)]
    
      'You're welcome Stanislav.'
    
      "What'd we do last night?!" Shawn gathered a fistful of bedsheet to cover herself, not from me, but from Viktoriya's prowling eyes.
    
      "I don't know," I wore an innocent grin. "I was hoping you'd girls would fill me in."
    
      "Oh, you were lovely, lastochka," Viktoriya laughed and brushed some hair from the startled girl's eyes. "Simply amazing."
    
      "I was?" Shawn squeaked.
    
      "I'm surprised you don't remember," Viktoriya broadcast a mental laugh, but continued speaking normally.
    
      "I don't," my plump petunia's eyes grew wide, "Honest! I don't!"
    
      "You rode him to exhaustion," the brunette practically licked her lips. "You only stopped when he swore you'd kill him if you kept going."
    
      "Oh, God!" Shawn covered her face in shame. Her cheeks, breasts, and shoulders turned a rosy pink. She lay back down beside me her hands still clutching the bed sheet. Viktoriya paid her no heed as she went on, her voice filled with mischief.
    
      "You drained him so much I had to wait my turn. I played with you until Stanislav got hard again. He was no good to us after."
    
      "Gee thanks," I muttered.
    
      "Don't be ashamed." She on a wicked little grin. "It was the alcohol. You should not drink, kisa. It makes you soft."
    
      "Wait, Vicky." Shawn sat up surprised, "What do you mean, 'you played with me'?"
    
      Viktoriya smiled lecherously and lay her head on my chest. Her eyes though, never left my cuddly cutie. Damn, I thought. Vika just found herself a new fuck toy. Shawn shied away like a nervous kitten.
    
      "I should have just played with you all night," my Slavic sexpot wore a wanton grin, "But I still need cock."
    
      Shawn gasped as Viktoriya threw the sheets back to reveal my dick was hard as a rock. My Baltic bimbo gripped me with one hand and began squeezing my fleshy shaft.
    
      "Poor Stanislav," my dark haired beauty whispered fiercely, "He didn't feel well; let's make him feel better."
    
      She bit one of my nipples lightly and her dark eyes rested on Shawn. My plump dumpling turned away in shock and disgust, but I caught her peeking. I sensed she was getting aroused. I pinched Shawn's bottom and felt her fidget. Soon, my Anglo angel was a-ga-ga as the pleasure flowed from the combined mind-spring between me and Viktoriya.
    
      Shawn could have gotten back under control by physically segregating herself from me, but since she pressed herself so close (and so unclothed) to me, she earnestly didn't have a chance. With one girl pressed against me and another teasing my well rested body, I couldn't hold myself back. I shuddered with pleasure.
    
      "I'm--I'm--c--c--cumming!"
    
      "Mnph?" Viktoriya uttered an audible noise but thought-spoke clearly. 'I know. Do it, kisa. I want a cum bath.'
    
      The brunette gave me a few more tugs with her hand and I spewed my load all over. Viktoriya caught most of the splatter in her hair but some of it touched me and Shawn. The younger girl let out a squeal as she felt the warm splash of cum against her cheeks.
    
      "Ew Stanley!" Shawn wiped her face on mine, "Yuck!"
    
      Viktoriya toyed with the sticky stuff with her fingers and looked towards the girl. "You should taste it dear. It will remind you of him when you're apart."
    
      "You can't be serious!" Shawn exclaimed, "That's gross!!"
    
      The Baltic beauty wiped a little bit of cum onto her index finger and offered it. Shawn shied away and curled against me.
    
      "Okay, that's enough," I said gently and quickly added a mental message: 'Stop it Vika. She doesn't want to.'
    
      "Very well." Viktoriya licked her fingers lewdly but her thought-speech was less polite: 'Then she doesn't love you as much as I!'
    
      We both watched as the Ukrainian beauty bounced out of bed. Despite Viktoriya's constant exercise and athleticism, her tits and ass still jiggled nicely as she headed for the bathroom. I heard the hiss of the shower being turned on and knew I would be alone with Shawn for a little while.
    
      "So," she asked slowly, "Like, what happens now?"
    
      "I don't know," I said, "But are you okay?"
    
      "I guess so," Shawn Ellen stretched lazily beside me. I heard her joints pop and I held her close under the sheets. I enjoyed the feeling of having her massive mammaries resting heavily on my chest. They felt like soft scented pillows. Finally, she asked the one question burning in her mind.
    
      "Do you love me, Stanley?"
    
      "Of course I do," I replied without hesitation. "What kind of question is that?"
    
      "Because," she murmured, "I just had a three-way with a girl I barely know. I think she and I also dyked out too."
    
      "And your point being?" I patted her ample ass.
    
      "Normal people don't do this. I mean, do they?"
    
      "Define normal," I challenged. Shit, I thought. I bet I wasn't.
    
      "I don't know Stanley," Shawn murmured, "What would my mom and dad think? Heck, what would YOUR mom and dad think?"
    
      "That I'm awesome," I joked, "And you'd be Mrs. Awesome."
    
      "You mean Mrs. Awesome number two," she sniffed, "Or number three."
    
      "Hey, you said it," I tapped the side of her boobs for emphasis, "Not me."
    
      "What about Vicky?" she asked pensively.
    
      "She can decide for herself. So can you." So could Rachelle, I thought belatedly. Shawn kept silent but I sensed her envy starting to form. I had to stop-punch it before it could grow out of control.
    
      "Shawn?" I asked, "Do you like me? I mean at all?"
    
      "Now what kind of question is that?" Shawn asked and gazed at me, "Of course I like you. I love you."
    
      "Okay," I measured my words carefully, "Then let's leave it at that. It's too nice of a morning to argue."
    
      I must've broadcast some of my displeasure, because Shawn suddenly got it into her mind that I was unhappy about Rachelle. She adjusted herself so she could toy with my hair. She'd scratch my scalp in a way that made me purr (and Melanie insanely jealous). I muffled my frustrations about Rachelle and left it at that. Happily, Shawn nodded off soon after. I heard her snoozing lightly when Viktoriya stepped back in.
    
      'Still in bed, kisa? It's morning.'
    
      I got up slowly, careful not to rouse Shawn. 'Shall I take you back first? Don't you have a flight tonight?'
    
      Viktoriya shook her head. 'Tomorrow night. I finished packing before leaving for dinner last night. I can stay a little longer.'
    
      She cast her gaze at Shawn's sleeping form and I instantly knew what she had in mind.
    
      'Be gentle now.' I warned.
    
      "Why, kisa!" Viktoriya smiled wolfishly and spoke aloud. "Of course I'll be gentle."
    
      Shawn jerked awake when Viktoriya's hand brushed against her breasts. Her baby blue eyes flew open wide as my Slavic sappho began kissing and caressing her plump body and massive boobs. Shawn shot me an accusing stare, as in "how could you let this happen!", but when she saw me sheepishly grinning (and drooling) like an idiot, Shawn dimpled her cheeks and slowly spread her legs.
    
      Oh fuck yeah.
    
      Shawn lay back and surrendered to the situation. I watched as Viktoriya playfully fingered the other girl's hole. Her thin dancer's body contrasted against Shawn's wider hips and melon-sized titties. I stood at stiff attention and enjoyed the show. Shawn's eyes went wide as the brunette encompassed her whole snatch with her mouth. I smiled a fool's smile as Viktoriya succumbed to her inner passion.
    
      'Cum ... in ... me ... kisa.' Viktoriya's thought-speech was jittery as she vested attention on Shawn's big soft body.
    
      My dick was swollen and I had no intention of beating off. I pulled Viktoriya's cute butt towards me, knelt between her legs, and let her have it. She let out a short yelp but continued to suck on Shawn's puss. Shawn in the meantime, watched me, biting gently on one of her fingers and pinching her big pink nipples.
    
      I sensed my plump dumpling was getting a voyeuristic turn-on, watching me fuck a woman who was eating her out. I knew Shawn hated herself for liking it, but she was too far along to refuse the rest of the ride. Besides, it was too good to get off now. Her mouth moved but she didn't say anything legible. The wet sucking noises from Shawn's pussy were only matched by the dull thumping I made when I slammed Viktoriya's slick sweet slice.
    
      I soon forgot about Rachelle, and the foolish promises I had made to her. I hated myself, but what could I do? Rachelle had picked someone else of her own choice and volition. I loved her enough to respect her decision. That morning was one of the weirdest ones I had; a mix of good and bad. Still, I had my fun and I didn't complain. In fact, I was too exhausted to do much of anything afterwards.
    
    ===============================================================================
      INTERLUDE -- AN IDEA AND CHIT-CHAT OVER COFFEE
    ===============================================================================
    
      I shan't bore you more with details in my graduate studies except to say that it was very exceptional for a young man at my age to have such a determined project in mind. While I had greatly scaled back my dealings with Rachelle and Aurora (my cousin and I kept our friendship to email and file sharing), I still had good enough relationships with Janet, Melanie, Shawn, and Viktoriya.
    
      Of the four, Viktoriya's future was the most indeterminate. While we had shared and done many things, and even studied our marvelous gifts, she had moved to Brooklyn, New York to further pursue her study of dance. I wouldn't see much of her unless I dedicated time to fly out there and see her. Oh, how I envied that teleporting bastard then!
    
      Janet kept knocking heads together at the San Francisco County Court (Civil Division) and her part-time internship paid off with a junior position at a private firm in the city. She took her graduate work to Berkeley's law school to save on travel time and was quite happy to be back.
    
      Melanie was still in high school, and she and I still went shopping every weekend. Her skills in cooking improved and she tried her hand at other recipes from other cultures. Yu-Ching became quite adept and turned out some fine dishes from my tiny kitchenette. After my mother caught her in my room cooking up a noisome little rack of lamb, Melanie expressed interest in a culinary career so she could, "take care of me."
    
      Shawn kept plugging away at systems engineering then found her interest in it flagging. Eventually, she settled into landscape architecture. Her background in drainage systems let her approach the discipline in a more rational way and she won a scholarship for it.
    
      "Think of it Stanley!" my pudgy pumpkin beamed. "A serviceable garden you don't want to turn into burning mulch!"
    
      "Great," I said. "You just want to work in my studio don't cha?"
    
      "Just so I can be Mrs. Awesome!" Shawn giggled and kissed me.
    
      So I had at least two girls who I was sure was going to stick around, and a third who may need a place for us to be alone if she headed off to college. It got me thinking that I needed a bigger place; heck, I wanted one anyway since I didn't want to live under my parents' roof any more.
    
      I studied the living arrangements of Islamic families with multiple wives and found most in the United States had simply married out of cultural convenience, but kept separate homes. The finances would certainly be interesting. Next, I studied schism Mormon compounds and felt a bad taste in my mouth. The negative tone of the Branch Davidians certainly made the term "compound" something I wanted to avoid.
    
      I wanted no harem: I treated my darlings respectably, and never forced them to do anything they didn't want. While it was true, there was SOME mind control, it was mostly by accident at first. I worked hard to keep my girls happy and being with me, and I had pleaded my case (first to Janet; then subsequently to each in turn) and my words were certainly more effective than a 'normal' man, but had one of them not accepted my proposal, I wasn't going to impose my will on them.
    
      What was the saying? Let them go. If they love you, they'll come back.
    
      For starters, I needed a place and the plans for building one. To do that, I needed to study the lifestyle and living arrangements. I rarely had more than two my lovelies at my place at once for two reasons: one reason was it was small and three people would crowd the place. The other was that some of them were still wary of one another or didn't know the other apart from what second-hand clues they got from me or stuff they left behind in my room.
    
      Therefore, I went back to research my maternal grandfather's situation. He had two wives. And his father had nine (!) wives. It turned out to be common practice for well-to-do men in southern China before the Communists took control (and instituted the one child, one family policy). I searched books and more books during my time assisting the CAD class instructor. I finally found it one day in two books: one entitled, "Kam Ping Mui", which was more commonly known as "The Gold Lotus" in English; the other was "Tale of Genji" (same title translated from Japanese).
    
      In both, rich men has multiple wives, each wife having her own manor or quarters. Interesting.
    
      There were no designs or plans in either book (only vague descriptions) so I had very little to base my design theory on; however, I knew what the modern equivalent was: a multi-storied "apartment" similar to the ones in Hong Kong. The difference would be that each person would have their own floor, or a few rooms on the same floor. Very interesting.
    
      I wrote a dissertation, using the future overcrowding in a dense city like San Francisco as impetus to design a "multi-unit building for immediate and extended family". The proposal was sensible, but I wanted to demonstrate I could do it, not merely talk (or write) about it. I wanted it to be reality so my darlings and I would finally be able to party in private.
    
      I found a building (actually two) that suited my proposal, but not only were the owners difficult to deal with but I also needed money. Lots of money. It was then I made my deal with Tseng.
    
      The problem of course, was contacting him. All I had was that he said he'd be "around". So, I cast about for a solution. I had said before that I wasn't able to find him. While I could sense him being alive, it was no use if I could not contact him. It's hard to explain but think of it like this: once I was made keenly aware of someone (and it was someone I wanted to keep in touch with), their mental presence "pinged" in my mental awareness, kind of like a hot-cold radar.
    
      As I got nearer to that target, the mental "ping" would be more significant, and I would be able to sense their exact location. That applied to 'normals'. There were inevitable exceptions when it came to our kind. With Melanie, her conscious thoughts (but not inner emotions) were heavily shrouded from me. Since she lived so close to me though, I was able to sense her fairly well and gauge what kind of mischief she would be planning.
    
      I had an open rapport with Viktoriya. She and I willingly communicated through mind-sight, actively (and specifically) seeking one another out, so distance wouldn't matter. I suppose one of us could be on the ISS Freedom and the other deep in the earth's core and we'd still be able to mind-chat.
    
      Tseng was the last of those exceptions. He was guarded around me, and once he distanced himself, I couldn't really get a bearing on where he was or if he was even in the vicinity until he spoke, or used thought-speech. However, I had an instinctive gut feeling he was in the city. I didn't want to get myself noticed by 'normals' but I had to push the boundaries of the established rules and did some rather brazen things to grab his attention.
    
      I had a suspicion he always kept a tab on me and the people I dealt with on a day to day basis. I needed to get him to come to me without pulling down the whole might of the invisible empire on me.
    
      I didn't know how to begin, so I began using telekinesis secretly on different objects. Dresses would catch and tear, bras would unsnap, buckles would get undone, hats would fly away, that sort of thing. I practiced on triggering ignition switches of cars, depressing gear shifters, and deflating tires (but no property damage). For a time, I even tried manipulating liquids to the level that Viktoriya could by playing around with gasoline. After a few near disasters, I felt a sharp pain in my mind.
    
      'What in the name of the foreigners' Christ are you doing?'
    
      Tseng's thought-speak nearly bowled me over as I was busy telekinetically flicking a visiting German girl's clitoris while she and I were on the same bus going home. I had to admit: even I thought I was getting carried away.
    
      'I needed to find you.' I thought back, abandoning my mischief. 'I didn't know how to call to you.'
    
      'Meet me at the Java Island.' Tseng's thoughts were cold and dry, like dead leaves in autumn.
    
      I headed for the coffee place near my house. It was not crowded, but it was not wholly deserted either. I found Tseng sitting patiently, a little out of place, at a young persons' gathering spot.
    
      "Hello," Tseng greeted me jovially aloud. Then his harsher side prevailed on a channel only we could use: 'Have you lost your mind?'
    
      "Hi," I kept up the charade and sat down without ordering. 'I need your help.'
    
      "Sit." Tseng eyed me coldly. 'No, you need to stop before you do something you regret.'
    
      "Thanks." I shrugged off his threats and took a seat. 'Sorry. I need help. I need some money for school. You've been around. How can I make some money using what I have? That David guy didn't trust you but I'm open to it.'
    
      Tseng's eyes narrowed. He was reading me. I let him get the part of my memory I wanted to show. A quick flash of David's place and along with Millie's face through mind-sight convinced him.
    
      "May I take your order?"
    
      We both looked up and saw a pretty waitress. Heavy on the bust, light on the cheer. Then again, working at a nearly dead Bohemian coffee place certainly was a downer. I knew I'd be looking to get out too.
    
      "Decaf mocha for me please," I said. The waitress scribbled on her pad and looked at Tseng.
    
      "Coffee please miss. Black."
    
      Predictable, I thought. The brew would match his coroner's attire.
    
      "The same can be said about Reese," he said. "Predictability."
    
      Tseng switched to audible speech to dispel any mystery of our (what appeared to be) silent meeting. I followed his eyes and found he was staring at the waitress' ass as she headed back to the counter. The guy must be in his forties or fifties. Fucking pervert.
    
      "Is that so?" I asked and focused back on the topic at hand.
    
      "He came to see you, didn't he?" Tseng turned to face me.
    
      "Yes," I grabbed a napkin for myself, and fiddled with it on my side of the table.
    
      "He did the same thing with me," Tseng confessed. "What'd he tell you?"
    
      I knew I couldn't lie all that much to him, but I experimented with withholding information. I told Tseng what David told me: about his wife, his ability, how they had tangled with the NSA, and his mother being killed by a Hezbollah extremist in Greece.
    
      "He didn't tell you about Davies did he?" Tseng asked when I finished. Either he got that out of me, or he was well-informed.
    
      "No," I admitted, "But I read his mind."
    
      "Good Stanley." I thought I heard his voice betray his arrogance; he sounded pleased.
    
      "His wife works there," I remarked casually, "In Oklahoma."
    
      "Not the capital. She works in Stillwater." Tseng smiled politely. The waitress had come back. She set down our orders then left. As soon as she did, so did his smile.
    
      "Have you met Millie?" I asked.
    
      "No," Tseng sipped his black brew then added, "But doubtless she's heard a thing or two about me."
    
      No shit, I thought. You crippled her husband.
    
      If Tseng heard my thoughts, he didn't say. Instead he continued in thought-speak: 'Davies, the man you scanned for Cox that day, wasn't one of the bombers, but he helped McVeigh's and Nichols' cell. I slipped Reese the tip. Anonymously of course.'
    
      Of course, I thought. But why?
    
      "Why?" Tseng read me easily, "Because pre-crime isn't a crime, not in normal courts. Reese took care of it. He had motive."
    
      And opportunity. And means to complement both, I thought darkly. Tseng said nothing.
    
      "You could've stopped them," I accused, "Saved those people, but you didn't."
    
      "How many places could you be at once?" Tseng smiled thinly. "We cannot be anywhere in an instant. Reese can, but that didn't concern him."
    
      "At the time," I pressed, "But you did know. That makes you complicit."
    
      "Bullshit," Tseng scoffed. "You read countless 'normals' on your commute to Berkeley and back. How many of them regard the current government as totalitarian? Are you complicit in not reporting them dutifully as a citizen?"
    
      I sat in deep thought. Janet worked close to a Federal building (one of more than a dozen, some owned, some rented, in the city). If she were in danger ... I closed my eyes and tried not to think about it. I wouldn't know where to begin.
    
      "If your 'friends' were in danger," Tseng said coldly, "You would act to help them. But sometimes, just sometimes, you can't be everywhere at once. It cannot be helped. It's a fact. Accept it."
    
      "Maybe," I said slowly, "Or I try and work to mitigate it. I wouldn't just stand around and do nothing."
    
      "Believe me or not," Tseng shrugged, "I was out of the country at the time."
    
      I couldn't pierce his great barrier to decide if I could or not, but I gave him the benefit of the doubt.
    
      "How about his foot?" I asked, "He says you attacked him."
    
      "Self-defence," Tseng replied, "You would do the same if you encountered the little rat-bastard like that. No sense of privacy or respect for it. I'd blame his father."
    
      "I got the feeling they didn't get along."
    
      "I'm surprised you didn't read it right away." Tseng brought the cup up to his lips but did not take in drink. "He's an abusive drunk. Classic domestic abuse case."
    
      "So, David jumped you didn't he?" I sipped a bit of my mocha.
    
      "He drew first blood," Tseng turned his head to the side. I could see a thin scar on the back of his head. I hadn't noticed it before.
    
      "What'd he hit you with?"
    
      David seemed nice enough. But maybe that was just a show he put on for his wife. I certainly didn't go deep enough to see what he really could do. He did attack Davies after all.
    
      "Does it matter?" Tseng sat back and looked at his drink. "After he hit me, I hit back. We're not on speaking terms unless an assignment calls for it. Let's leave it at that."
    
      "So," I began to suspect the sudden interest in me, "You need a replacement. Or a middle man."
    
      Tseng smiled wanly. "Actually, the agency doesn't care. It wants all of us. But you may be partly right. I'm getting old and Reese is a loose cannon."
    
      "So why me?" I asked.
    
      "You, Stanley," Tseng looked at me with tired eyes, "Are very special." Then he followed up with: 'I think you are quite suited for what the invisible empire needs.'
    
      "Parents think their kids are special," I said, "But as far as I'm concerned, you and I aren't much different."
    
      "You are," Tseng said.
    
      I wasn't inclined to believe it, but I nodded anyway.
    
      "Whether or not you believe me," he said, "Trust me, you are."
    
      I blinked. Damn. I lost control again. Tseng had read my intentions, or wormed them out of me, or something. I needed to practice.
    
      'Yes.' Tseng thought-spoke. 'You need practice. And speaking along the lines of that, let me warn you about David Reese. Be very careful what you do and say around him.'
    
      My eyes lit up and I listened attentively.
    
      "First, how'd you persuade him not to go through your place?" Tseng asked.
    
      "I warned him," I lied. Remembering how quietly the jumper could displace himself, I fell to thought-speech. 'I told him I could call up his psychic emanations. Track his living mind echo. Of course I could just read his mind.'
    
      "You are learning," Tseng's eyes crinkled with a knowing smile then thought to me. 'He cannot eavesdrop on what he cannot hear. Thought-speak when you do not want him knowing what you know.'
    
      'Gotcha.' I sipped more mocha.
    
      'I am surprised you cannot feel "psychic echoes". What you said about emanations is partly true. You can track him now you are aware of him.'
    
      "I think I felt that when he did his thing," I said. "I knew when he was around, and if he was still alive."
    
      'That's a start.' Tseng nodded and continued his thoughts. 'Concentrate on his presence when you return home. You can ransack his memories once he's asleep. He won't know if it's a dream or if you're messing with him. You said he lived in a desert cave?'
    
      "I think he said New Mexico," I said. "I think he was lying."
    
      "Of course he was," Tseng's eyes crinkled slightly then continued in thought-speak: 'It's actually Culbertson county in Texas. Two hours ahead. About the right window for REM sleep.'
    
      'So you did know where he was.' I winced then said aloud, "You could've warned me."
    
      'You went willingly, so why bother? Besides he would have come to you anyway. He wants allies. He wants out of the agency.' Tseng's mouth formed a cruel smile. 'Even if he befriends you and sets you against me, Cox and his bosses won't let that happen. They'll neutralize him first.'
    
      'Hence the primacy of keeping the invisible empire unseen.' I slumped into my seat. 'You didn't give me much of a choice did you?'
    
      'Not this time.' Tseng touched the back of my hand with his gloved fingers. 'I wouldn't be so glum Stanley. You aren't cut out to go rogue. You have roots in this country. You even love its women.'
    
      I glanced at him and he drew back with a smile. I knew he was right.
    
      'Think of it this way.' Tseng thoughts grew amused. 'You're an ambassador of sorts, as am I. We keep two powerful groups from each other's throats through delicate negotiation, and at the same time, live a good life. Isn't that all any man can ask for?'
    
      He wiped the lip of his cup with a napkin and studied me carefully. "Now about your money problem."
    
      I hid my embarrassment by emptying my mocha. Would I want seconds if asked? Not unless Tseng was paying, I thought.
    
      "We'll have that settled soon enough." Tseng completed his reply in thought-speech: 'Cox will call you in a few days. A new job. Pretend you didn't hear it from me, but he's setting you up for training and indoctrination. You'll even get to play toy soldier in the training classes.'
    
      'What should I do to prepare?' I thought back.
    
      'Wear gloves like those psi-cop goons on Babylon-5.' Tseng easily found my choice of programming when I was back in City College. 'Keep up appearances. They think we need to touch them for our powers to work.'
    
      We both knew that notion was false. For me, I favored line of sight, and once I was aware of someone, they couldn't escape notice (like David). Physical contact though, accelerated and magnified the whole experience to lethal degrees if I didn't keep myself under control.
    
      For Tseng, I was beginning to think he could get to someone anywhere in the world if he wanted to. We agreed to the task at hand and made our preparations. When I left, I saw Tseng talking to the waitress. As I left the coffee shop, I saw him gently graze her hand out of the corner of my eye.
    
    ===============================================================================
      DOING THE ODD JOB
    ===============================================================================
    
      This was crazy. The heat was sweltering as in Hong Kong. Had to be, since I was in Baja California in summer. The place was miserable and miles into the desert wasteland between Tecate and Mexicali. If only I could displace myself I thought. Zip back to my comfortable pad in San Francisco and zip back once I cooled off. Too bad I wasn't able to.
    
      Tseng and I flew to our destinations to avoid suspicion; we first chartered either private jets or choppers to a local airstrip then used telekinesis to fly to our final rendezvous in silence. The chilly air would mandate something like a windbreaker; once down on the ground though, the heat from the earth would radiate and boil you alive.
    
      'I can confirm there are five.' Tseng thought-speech jerked me from my misery.
    
      I didn't need him to say more; I knew where he was (when Tseng allowed it), just as he knew where I was (unlike Tseng, I didn't have a choice). The precision, timing, and observations two experienced psychokineticists could provided far outstripped the collective info-net of a modern army in the last two years of the 20th Century.
    
      The only thing that limited us would be what we could experience with our own eyes; our minds could detect living things we were aware of before at any distance but unliving objects and masses were limited to what we could immediately see. In our case, night scopes and telescopes were handier than a GPS device.
    
      'Did not copy Talisman.' I thought back. 'Snake Charmer sees five.'
    
      It wasn't a G.I. Joe codename I made or even cared for. Cox handed them out at my second meeting. It was my first "official" assignment with an unofficial agency to interrogate some schmuck David had grabbed. The "kidnappee" was a cartel underboss of some sort. Like Davies, I had bet the next time I saw him, he'd be in worse shape. As it'd turned out, I would be wrong. I never saw him ever again. The agency, Tseng or David literally made him vanish off the face of the earth. I didn't follow up on who was complicit not because I didn't know, I just didn't care.
    
      Tseng didn't care for code names, or for playing secret agent. However, I played to his paranoia that we should keep using our code names: if Cox or agency confronted us about it, we'd know there'd be a leak or someone tracking us. Besides, I had argued, if there were others like us, they could identify us if we didn't use code names.
    
      'Impossible,' was what Tseng said at first. But he followed my recommendation anyway.
    
      'Talisman confirms five hostiles.' Tseng's disdain was evident.
    
      He chafed whenever methods better than his were used, especially if someone else had suggested them. Such was the attitude of the gifted and talented. I had been at this kind of occasional "odd job" for the past couple of months with Tseng. After my assignment interrogating the cartel mid-boss, I let slip to Tseng about a smuggling ring. It was operating as an extension to a network of Mexican cartels near Tecate.
    
      We headed to Mexico to do a little reconnaissance and picking up an odd job here and there. The first few missions went better than expected. Through Tseng's own interrogation of other "guests" of the agency, he knew one of the Tecate cartels were interested in moving "merchandise" across the border. Tseng took me along as both training and to inure me to the violence that would come.
    
      Thankfully, the merchandise was limited to automatic weapons and ammunition. I knew I could disable all the pieces in each shipment in an eyeblink. All I needed to do was snap their firing pins or activate their safeties. I didn't though. Each case we handled the same: levitate the cargo over the border, high above the border's airspace (about a mile up). It's easy if you could move things with your mind from the comfort of your hotel's rooftop.
    
      For those jobs, Tseng and I collected a measly $2500. To top it off, half of it was counterfeit money. We thanked the smugglers' boss after the last shipment, for we had other plans.
    
      Because the smugglers had invited us into their midst, Tseng and I were made aware of their presences even after we left the area. From that, we knew the same Tecate cartels were moving moderate shipments of cocaine past the border. We easily intercepted one shipment of drugs and money. The guards and escorts we simply eliminated. It was easy to incite them and their American counterparts to kill one another.
    
      I was hesitant at first but after a few grabs, my squeamishness for this business quickly evaporated. I guess I could stand it since I wasn't directly involved with the eradication process, I merely provoked it.
    
      It was fairly simply to trick a 'normal' into seeing something that wasn't really quite there, especially if he was expecting it. Hence, conjuring the illusion of a rattlesnake about to strike was pretty easy. Once the carnage started, it left few survivors. I only had to step in and personally eradicate a couple survivors once or twice.
    
      I didn't feel great about it but I lost more sleep from teaching C.A.D. courses at Berkeley and researching my dissertation than I did from killing Mexican banditos and American thugs either through direct or indirect means. Besides, if I didn't get them all, they'd find me and kill me.
    
      Tseng was more direct in his methods though. In one case, he used telekinesis to fully control the body of the most heavily armed thug and proceeded to shoot everyone in sight. Wounds (and ultimately death) didn't phase the horror. When the terrified gang-banger's upper body and head were vaporized in a shotgun blast, Tseng drove the gun onward. The dead man's fingers still operated the breech and trigger until the last bandito was killed, a Catholic prayer on his lips.
    
      After the carnage, we would help ourselves to the loot. We would leave some weapons behind (as evidence for the slaughter) but I would take the rest. I stored all the weapons I took in a Public Storage building on Masonic Street, just across from a shopping center converted from an old cemetery.
    
      While I didn't have the need for weapons, I approached it as a logical exercise: by learning the different shapes and mechanisms, I was able to disarm them safely and silently. In any case, if the need arose that I needed to neutralize someone with mundane means, I had more than enough firepower to commit a half-dozen North Hollywood shoot outs. I focused chiefly on keeping magazines, ammunition, and other non-serialized parts. I wouldn't keep anything with a serial number until much later (when I learned how to erase metal etchings).
    
      Tseng didn't bother with weapons; he was a weapon. Not even bullets fazed him. Once, a gang-banger got lucky and dropped on Tseng, blazing away with two micro UZIs, just like an action film. I thought my calculating mentor was dead meat. Instead, I saw bullets splash against an invisible barrier, ricocheting at such wild angles that I had to throw myself to the ground to avoid being hit. When I looked up again, Tseng had shoved the banger's forearm through his mouth, and the dead man's upper torso was a horrid, contorted mess.
    
      One thing we both agreed on was the drugs. We never touched the drugs: that commodity was too hot and neither of us cared to embroil ourselves into a substance that could be lethal not only to our bodies, but our all important minds. We usually left the drugs alone, but we occasionally took the drug packets in order to fool the authorities into thinking it was a rival gang's raid.
    
      Tseng and I probably destroyed more than a quarter billion dollars of processed drugs in just a few operations but that crap still poured in by the ton. That's when I understood the Drug War was bullshit.
    
      The money though, was another story. After an even split, we were pretty rich, although not fabulously so. For a graduate student, I accumulated a small nest-egg of a $296,000 dollars in a mixture of bills, real and fake. I knew to spend wisely and very little of it. With my money problems being relatively solved, Tseng and I moved onto our next series of "odd jobs", and the one we were currently trying to complete to "legitimize" our cash balances (well, at least that's what I was shooting for).
    
      Every year, college students would head down to Tijuana for spring break to see the donkey show (true, depending on the establishment), hook up and fuck (depends on who you find), or simply get smashed because there's no 21 or older drinking age in Mexico (very true, and if there was, it was on the border, so fuck you!). Apparently, one of them, a rich girl named Katherine Heeber was kidnapped off the street.
    
      Her parents sought out private investigators after the State Department failed to make much head way. Tseng and I showed up to offer our unique services. What clinched the deal was that we took no retainer, we operated on good faith. Mrs. Heeber took it as a sign from God. Mr. Heeber was suspicious, but it would cost him nothing for us to try. I knew better. Tseng fully intended to collect once their daughter was found and delivered, alive or dead.
    
      We traced the girl's trail from the hotel she was staying. It was difficult, since she didn't have much personal affection for her temporary lodgings. Her trail got stronger as we neared the spot where she was grabbed. A quick scan of minds in the area and Tseng found an old woman who spoke ancient Spanish. Tseng translated. She related how cartels from Tecate often robbed or raped the tourists who came into Tijuana but stopped when it hurt the drug trade (no tourists spending money).
    
      The Katherine gringa, the crone claimed, was taken by a bastard son of a cartel tough who was able to speak to trees, and flowers, and animals, and God.
    
      I arched a brow at Tseng after he translated: 'Could it be? Another of the empire?'
    
      Tseng urged caution and promptly fell into use of our silly NSA code names, just in case we could be mentally eavesdropped.
    
      We found the Heeber girl in the trackless desert in Baja California Norte, somewhere between Tecate and Mexicali. I couldn't tell you if I saw it on a map, but I can recall the location by memory. She was bound and gagged in a small house for seven days. Her kidnappers had made demands to the wrong people, the English demand for ransom didn't make it to anyone who could read it. Tseng and I knew her days were numbered and that one or two of her kidnappers had raped her already.
    
      I felt sorry enough that I wanted to move in immediately, but Tseng held me back. Although I was against it, Tseng's logic prevailed: Heeber's rape had occurred before we even found the kidnappers' hideout. Going in without a plan was dangerous.
    
      I relented and waited. We planned to strike at night. There would be less of a chance that a spy satellite or U.A.V. would spot us. In any case, Tseng doubted the agency would use a spy satellite to track us, since we were specks so small and moved so fast in the air. I doubted his doubts chiefly because technology had advanced quite a bit since his time.
    
      I extended my focus out and picked through each of the five men. Here and there I could get some meaning of the Spanish language, but I never lingered long to understand it fully. Viktoriya's cautiousness and Tseng's paranoia had tempered my mind-reading to brief glances here and there except when I was earnestly calm and in control of the subject.
    
      All five kidnappers were understandably nervous and agitated. In this heat, even a Zen Buddhist would be agitated. One of them though, was itching for another go at the Heeber girl. I tracked him heading back towards the house, leaving his perimeter open.
    
      Perfect, I thought.
    
      'What do you mean perfect?' Tseng's thought-speak chimed in immediately. 'Stay where you are.'
    
      Yeah right, I thought. 'Talisman. South perimeter open. Hostile heading back towards package. We move. Now.'
    
      Tseng cursed. I knew that he knew that he could not stop me, not with so much going on. He could berate or even kill me later, but in the past few months I had learned to improvise and improve on our trade far more than he realized. Had the student surpassed his master?
    
      'Get your mind out of Star Wars boy.' Tseng radiated a sneer. 'Since you are in such a rush, go take out the two in the house. I will deal with the remaining three.'
    
      I half-walked, half-skated in mid-air towards the house. Nothing moved faster than a psychokinetic who was used to levitating his own body, barring any method of physical displacement. I mulled over David's gift; it was a shame he didn't take as much interest in using and abusing them. Each subsequent time we met, I had picked apart his brain and knew more about him than what he wanted me to know.
    
      I knew he had abused his powers: terrorizing his abusive father, taking short trips to different parts of the world, smuggling plants and other foreign shit across natural boundaries, and breaking and entering. It was the last one I was sore about. I asked David at our second "official" assignment if he came back to my place. I could tell if someone was lying when I asked a question.
    
      Shit. Never lie to a telepath. It's demeaning.
    
      The instant that memory of him standing (again!) in my kitchen with his damned shoes on, I was pissed. Although Cox and his men didn't hear it, Tseng definitely overheard what I said to David: 'I don't know why you displaced into my place again, but it's obvious you have some trust issues. That's why Millie is spending all her time at the office. Trolling for new meat.'
    
      David nearly blanched then realized I had been thought-speaking directly to him. He jumped off with the prisoner after the interrogation and I didn't see him again until the Sherwood assignment. I was smug and self-assured. That should give the insensitive prick something to do. Tseng said nothing, but I got the distinct feeling that he was somewhat proud of what I did.
    
      If Tseng was proud of me then, he certainly didn't exhibit it now. A crack of gunfire erupted north of me. I wasn't sure what happened and I didn't bother asking. If he was KIA then I had to deal with five thugs and a hostage. I felt my ruthlessness take charge.
    
      The two thugs in the house were near the Heeber girl, probably arguing about which hole to violate next, when the sounds of the gunshots reached them. They turned away from me just as I reached the house doors. Normally, I simply played off different sides in a stand-off against each other: make it appear as if one person pointed his weapon at someone, or conjure illusory sounds and images in their minds. At the small ramshackle house in the desert though, I saw something that made me bury my idealism permanently.
    
      Katherine Heeber was lying on the floor, her clothes torn, feet bare, and face battered and bruised. Her lips were cracked and bleeding, her hair and clothing disheveled. Her eyes were closed and she appeared dead; the only things which gave it away were the steady breathing and the presences I felt when I scanned the room.
    
      What startled me though, was the thin trace of fluid that dripped from the inside of her thighs. Rachelle's plight with her beau "Craig" came back, unbidden. I felt an onrush of rage. I wanted to kill and I knew I needed to, or my mind might lash out unconsciously when I was tired or distracted.
    
      Besides, there was nothing that could stop me, or was there? One of the thugs went towards the sound, but the second thug stayed. He was slight of frame and had curly dark hair. As I moved silently towards Heeber, intending to pick her up and leave, the thin thug suddenly turned around as if I had called to him.
    
      Fuck.
    
      He was the gifted one. The thin man screamed for help as he brought up his weapon to fire, but I had already toyed with his weapon. The safety was flicked on. His finger squeezed the trigger, but it wouldn't give. As the bandit fumbled with his weapon, I telekinetically flung a piece of mudwall into his face.
    
      The thug threw up his hands as the second bandit came through the door. I was armed with nothing save my own skill and talent. The thin thug had turned off his safety and was firing wildly into the ceiling; I simply pushed him in a few key spots: the back of his knee, his forearm, and a side of his body and he was in the position I needed him to be.
    
      The bandit's gun riddled the second man and he died before he could show surprise at the situation. I quickly shifted focus and mentally pulled the dead man's weapon into my hands. As the thin thug stood back up with his emptied weapon, he faced me with a white face and wide eyes. I leveled my stolen weapon at his chest and fired.
    
      The rapid snap-snap-snap of the Kalashnikov made it sound like one of those toy guns I used to play with as a child. The smoke and fire from the muzzle though, was real enough. The skinny bandito fell back. I didn't go near him; I didn't want to. I pulled his weapon towards me with my mind and thanked heaven that neither douchebag had hand grenades or a holdout pistol on their person.
    
      Fucking amateurs, I thought. I cleared the weapon the gifted bandit had dropped and pocketed the magazine. Unless someone else was able to telekinetically disarm me, I would be fine with my newly acquired AK-74. I stepped next to the Heeber girl so she was between me and the freshly killed men. If by some miracle one of them survived and decided to do a last ditch counterattack, I would've propped Heeber up to take the hit. Her parents wouldn't be happy, but I would be alive. What's more, I would still collect.
    
      "I am American," I asked aloud. "What is your name?"
    
      Despite the appearance of the hostage and what my mental scans had told me, I still marveled how well I took to agency training.
    
      'Rule one of hostage rescue: never give the victim a name to go by, especially if it is a woman.' I recalled the lesson taught by the agency instructor, a tough, leather-faced sergeant.
    
      'She could be a kidnapper planted to fuck with you,' the grizzled old man leveled his gaze at me. 'Shit, she might even take your holdout and kill your horny ass while you watch her put on her panties.'
    
      The battered girl opened her eyes slowly and whispered so softly I could barely hear her. I leaned closer, careful to keep my eyes on the dead men and be able to see her hands and knees. I was leaning to one side so if she decided to grapple with me, I could've pushed her away then restrain her with telekinesis.
    
      "Katie. Katie Heeber," she croaked. "Water please."
    
      That was what Heeber's parents had called her. I got up, satisfied with going through the motions. No one in the "normal" world had ever heard of a telepathic special-ops soldier, and if I don't fuck up further, no one ever will. I only had salt tablets and I had drank most of my water. I needed it to get us back to civilization. I slung my weapon and looked around the place.
    
      'Package secured Tseng.' I thought-spoke as I explored the dump for water. 'I have two dead here, including the ...'
    
      'The telepath. I know.' Tseng thought back. 'The buzzards will eat well tonight.'
    
      I winced, despite having just shot dead two men myself. Tseng seemed to enjoy himself a little too much. I found some water in a rusty pan. At least it looked like water. In the sweltering heat, it could've been the kidnappers' piss for all I knew. I dropped a purifier tablet in and went back to the girl.
    
      "The water is dirty. I need to get something to filter it," I bent down and took up a small corner of her torn attire. "Sorry honey, but your blouse is the only thing we can use as a filter."
    
      She nodded weakly and I tore a small piece of what little clothing she had left for a filter. It wouldn't be a good one, and if the water was water (not piss), she'd likely have dysentery in a few hours. I hoped the purification tablet would hold it in check until she got the help she needed. I guided Katie's hands to hold the fabric over her mouth. I had her stretch it as taut as possible then I dribbled the water as slowly as I could onto the fabric-filter.
    
      The Heeber girl coughed and she heaved mightily, but she soon recovered and licked up the few drops reaching her lips. After a few more minutes, Tseng came in without a sound. He was levitating an inch off the ground. The balding Chinaman set himself back on the ground and walked over to the dead men in the house. I could smell the stink of urine and shit and death, and hear the flies buzzing in to do their busy egg laying.
    
      "Poor fuck," Tseng said quietly, "He was probably all screwed up from hearing things. His father probably thought he was crazy or possessed."
    
      "He's dead now, so that solves that," I reflected. "What now?"
    
      Tseng stood beside Katie and pointed at her. "Can she walk?"
    
      "I don't know," I said.
    
      "I--can--walk," the battered girl croaked.
    
      "It's too far," I put the water bowl down and wiped her face as best I could. "Any vehicles?"
    
      Tseng nodded. "I filched the key from one of them. We can drive back."
    
      "We'd be stopped," I said flatly. "Two Chinks and an injured white girl don't make the typical Mexico tourist group."
    
      "We drop her off at the border," Tseng said, "We will likely have to file something of an official report, direct to Champion."
    
      Champion was Cox's code name.
    
      "Wait!" I stood up, "You said this was going to be under the table; no agency involvement!"
    
      "He will cooperate," Tseng said smoothly, "Besides, this was part of the plan."
    
      "Your plan or the agency's?" I shouted. I felt betrayed. Tseng's immutable mental defence guaranteed what he planned would be kept from me.
    
      "Easy there Snake Charmer." Tseng put a finger to his lips and motioned to the girl. I backed down and heard him out. "The agency wants to know how capable we are as a team. This little foray demonstrates not only are we capable but that you're capable of independent action."
    
      "So what?" I asked.
    
      "Listen boy," he was getting annoyed, "You're not thinking ahead. They have to trust Ghost Light --" David's call sign "-- because they're afraid of what he can make off with. They trust me because I do my best to accommodate their requests, far more often than he."
    
      "You Snake Charmer, are the fresh meat," Tseng adjusted his spectacles and studied me, "You're the newest bitch on the block. You need to prove your mettle before they're afraid of you, understand? This is for your own good."
    
      I was about to protest but decided we had other priorities.
    
      "Okay Talisman, I see your point. Now where're we going to drop her off that's safe from the Tecate cartels? They'll probably recognize their own cars."
    
      "We're not going through to Tecate," Tseng dismissed my suggestion with a wave. "We head to Mexicali."
    
      We arrived in Mexicali an hour later in a beat-up red pick-up truck. Tseng drove and I kept the girl cool using my mind to hold up a big flat piece of metal over the truck. It was a good exercise, but I had to ditch the sheet metal as we neared town. I shielded Katie by standing over her and casting my shadow on her eyes. Tseng drove right past the town's busiest streets and right up to the U.S. Border Patrol station.
    
      I suppose he had much more experience dealing with the bureaucratic crap; he certainly looked the part. Tseng took no guff from the station S.O.I.C. (supervisory officer in charge). He flipped his credentials, demanded a phone, and got Cox on the line in the span of five minutes. For anyone who doubted the speed at which a bureaucracy moves, they obviously never pissed off the NSA.
    
      In fifteen minutes, I heard a chopper overhead. I had carried the Heeber girl into the border patrol's office. There, a cute Latina border patrol officer and me bandaged Katie's cuts and gave her ice chips to slake her thirst. I got her first and last name: Sandra Gutierrez. She looked lot a plainer version of the actress Paula Garces but sweeter, because she was all the more real (and talking to me!). Officer Gutierrez and I chatted with each other as we did our best for Katie.
    
      "You're an odd one," Sandra had said to me. "You're really nice you know that?"
    
      "I am?" I grinned. If only you knew girl! I just killed two people in cold blood.
    
      "Yeah," the pretty officer looked glum, "Most of the riff-raff who come through here are real assholes."
    
      "Well I'm sorry to disappoint," I said.
    
      She asked me for a card, but I didn't have one. We were both disappointed. I felt she was looking for a nice guy with some interesting background; I was looking to abuse her Catholic background of eschewing birth control while I was on top of her, pinning her ankles by her head. The SOIC called Sandra into her office, and that was the last I ever saw of her.
    
      Oh well, I thought. Can't have everything.
    
      Tseng and I bundled Katie onto the chopper right as a man and woman got off. Both were dressed in dark suits that didn't fit the weather, and both were unremarkable and plain (in the case of the woman, butt ugly). Tseng and I were herded with them into a small room for a conference call. Cox was on the other line and clearly unhappy.
    
      The two NSA agents looked similarly unamused. It didn't matter, I knew they didn't like their assignment. They were picked because they were near retirement and had nothing for us to read from. Cox asked us if we had lost our minds to go roving around Mexico without provocation. Tseng simply explained our private contract with the Heeber family.
    
      Tseng maintained that he and I can operate as mercenaries as we liked; we technically broke no laws (well, killing five people in Mexico was, but we said nothing of it) and the clients would likely be satisfied. All he asked for was consideration about what "other" things we could do on a contractual basis. If the agency wasn't keen on supporting our lifestyle then there were "other clients".
    
      "Overseas clients," Tseng finished casually.
    
      I almost wanted to hit him. I wasn't going overseas to anywhere. Janet would be crushed. Melanie was certainly too young to go anywhere. Shawn was still busy with college and Viktoriya -- oh sweet, sweet Viktoriya -- she and her family immigrated to the United States. I didn't think she'd want to go anywhere else. I wasn't going to just leave them. I gnashed my teeth and interrupted the conference with my demands.
    
      "Goddammit Champion," I slammed the table, making the two agents in the room jump, "I'm up to my ass in student debt. And while I don't mind helping you assholes out, I need money."
    
      I caught my breath and went on, "I'm not looking to do business with the Commi-nazis or whatever the fuck you guys are pissed at right now, but if someone is in trouble and can pay me to help them without starting a war then I'm going to do it unless you give me a reason, a paid reason, not to, got that?"
    
      I saw Tseng arch his brow, but he said nothing aloud or otherwise. Cox was silent for a little while then he spoke.
    
      "All right. Fine," Cox was agitated but he held his voice even, "Talisman already has an account we wire money to. I'll set up something for you too Snake Charmer. In return, you stop this superhero bullshit. We don't want to tip our hand and have someone kidnap you."
    
      "You forget," Tseng said, "That it is very hard to surprise us."
    
      "Well yes," Cox admitted, "But sooner or later someone might find a way. This is 1998 Talisman, not 1988."
    
      I felt glib. Now I had a timeframe to research my mysterious mentor.
    
      "I'll be careful Champion," I said and decided to jerk around my handler. "At least you can see us moving around. You should spend more time finding a way to track Ghost Light. I heard nanotechnology's gone pretty far out these days."
    
      Cox was silent for a while then got back on subject, "We'll take the hint. Just don't expect to buy a Porsche every time you do a seance for us understand?"
    
      "It's called mind-reading," I leaned back. "And what good is a damned Porsche to me? I just need to make enough to cover my education. I'm trying to be an architect, not goddamned Jay Leno."
    
      Incredibly, I heard a chuckle from Cox's end before he hung up. I wasn't near him to sense if he thought I was funny or not, but the two agents in the room seemed a bit more relaxed. One even fought to suppress a smile.
    
      'You have a way with your words Stanley.' That was Tseng.
    
      'Don't you mean Snake Charmer?' I thought back.
    
      'Does it matter?' Tseng thought wistfully. 'We get paid either way.'
    
      The Heebers were glad to have their daughter back. As part of the contract Tseng negotiated though, no one in the press saw our faces, and our names were "parties unknown".
    
      "Keep it under wraps Mr. Heeber," Tseng said genially the night we collected our payment, "Otherwise you may compromise future operations."
    
      "I'll talk to my wife and to Katie," the father said gratefully. "I'm sure they'll understand."
    
      "Your daughter was in pretty bad shape when we found her; she may not remember." Thinking back to what started the bloodbath at the desert house, I quickly added, "Perhaps it's for the best."
    
      Mr. Heeber nodded soberly. He and his wife were there when the doctors gave them the news. Sexual trauma, lacerations, bruising. Katie was still being tested for HIV and other STDs when Tseng contacted Mr. Heeber by phone to arrange payment. All cash. No exceptions. We didn't want an easily traced trail.
    
      "$2500," Mr. Heeber stacked twenty-five hundred dollar bills on the table, "But you said you wanted a receipt for how much?"
    
      "$175,000," I tried to maintain a straight face.
    
      Tseng cast a sideways glance at me. 'You will still need to pay taxes on that.'
    
      'I know.' I seemed resigned to the fact.
    
      'Increase the total to --' his cold eyes flicked towards Heeber quickly "-- four-sixty. I will show you some write-offs you can make and keep most of your cash.'
    
      "Uh, would you care to write out $460,000?" I asked meekly as Heeber pulled out some forms.
    
      "Four hundred sixty? Sure," Heeber wrote on a form with white, yellow, and pink pages, "I guess I can't complain. You file one thing, I do another. Hah! No one's the wiser. Besides, this is chump change to get our Katie back."
    
      Tseng stayed silent as I thanked him.
    
      "I'm amazed you worked so fast," he continued. "The police and FBI, they said they had few leads."
    
      "One thing about agencies," Tseng broke the silence, "Is that they are groups. Like minded individuals congregate in groups. Similarity in thought sometimes closes one's mind to potential solutions."
    
      "That sounds almost mystical," Heeber said, handing us the receipt, "Is it a quote? Sun Tsu's Art of War perhaps?"
    
      "Sun Liao-tsu is oft overrated by Westerners Mr. Heeber," Tseng rose, "That was my observation. Although I am sure a scholar much older than I, and much more read, has expounded the same theory before."
    
      "Oh," Heeber rose, wiping his hands on his slacks, "Uh, well thank you Mr. Cheng, and uh, Mr. uh--?"
    
      "Goodbye sir." I smiled thinly and waved. "Best of luck to you."
    
      "You too," Heeber saw us out.
    
    ===============================================================================
      JUST AN AVERAGE WEEKEND
    ===============================================================================
    
      Cox was good on his word. Or at least his bosses in the agency were. I got a letter in the mail a week after my latest jaunt from Mexico congratulating me on opening a new account with United Bank. The funny thing was that I hadn't done business with United Bank before. I knew the agency would be able to track me using that account, and that was fine by me (up to a point). At least now I had a quasi-legitimate source of income. I filed taxes that year, ridiculously under-reporting my earnings (the agency doesn't pay its contractors much) and writing off my student loan payments.
    
      Since the agency knew my social security number (which wasn't very secure; it was cloned twice by identity thieves in the 2000s), I kept my small nest-egg of cash. I laundered it very slowly (about $100 a month), which by my calculations, would take me about 200 years to launder the whole total. I took to spending the cash on daily necessities (like gasoline and food and mundane clothing) and I didn't buy more than what I needed.
    
      All of the agency's disbursements I left in the bank; I only withdrew money from it when I paid for something big (like my tuition fee). When my account topped $100,000 after a few more agency tasks, I transferred the difference to the bank account my parents' had opened for me when I was a baby. When that topped $100,000 after having legitimized some of my Mexican cartel cash from the Heeber job, I opened a new account at a third bank and so forth.
    
      I wasn't a spendthrift, but what I wanted for me and the girls down the road would cost a pretty penny. Still, I had a good lump of cash on hand. And cash, for short-term pleasures, was good.
    
      1999 was a busy year for me. Academically, my dissertation was being met by harsh criticism by my peers and professors, who believed I was a self-centered, chauvinist jerk; I suppose I could've plowed the pretty ones to exert my dominance, but I simply wanted my masters degree so I could register for the architects' license exam in time.
    
      I modified my paper to be an "extended family" residence and included more transparent eco-friendly modifications that didn't turn my design into a Greenpeace hippies' mud shack. My paper was eventually received with a little more acceptance, and was eventually published as an article in the Architectural Journal; high praise for a recent graduate.
    
      Professionally, I was called out by the agency to look into several shootings that centered around the Millennial theme. The agency feared domestic terrorism would be on the rise as the new century approached (technically, it wouldn't be the new century until 2001, but something about those zeroes in 2000 made people bonkers). Cox wanted to see if there was some mass hysteria and if Tseng or I could mitigate it. Tseng did his best to explain the situation: sometimes people are prone to mob thought and persuasion.
    
      "Our own fears and sub-conscious are our worst enemies," he quipped.
    
      "Ride it out," I threw in my two cents. "And use four digits for yearly time stamps to avoid Y2K. Call me when it's the year 9,999 (Y10K) and we'll get back to you."
    
      Cox didn't seem all too happy about our answers, but conceded to our expertise. In terms of the empire's goings-on, Tseng and I probably completed our most brazen contract to date. The Mexican cartels in Baja California Norte suspected we had been behind some of the incidents in the past year (they were right), but we decided to shift the blame to them. We picked up a meeting the cartels would be having in Tecate; with some clever mental cajoling, telekinesis and persuasive words, we managed to set the cartels on each other's throats.
    
      Tecate turned into a six day bloodbath. By the time the Mexican Army showed up, elements of the agency were probably transmitting the events to Cox. However, he had no viable proof since Tseng and I were pulling the strings of our Mexican cartel contacts by sheer willpower alone. We were nowhere near Tecate when the shooting started, so everything appeared as a normal shoot-out.
    
      We did head out to Tecate, Tijuana, and Mexicali afterwards though. It was clean-up. There was a power vacuum and until someone came in to take charge, some of the facilities were left empty and guarded by a skeleton crew. Tseng and I raided the cartel compounds and took just the money and other exchangeable assets (like jewelry). The guards were often used to haul the loot into the street where we'd drive by and pick it up. The guards didn't know how what hit them; the bodies that were discovered later that year might've been the guards for all I knew.
    
      I didn't care. All I knew was my little cash nest-egg had ballooned so much, I had to cut open the floorboards in a corner of my outer room to stash cash between the floor joists. I certainly didn't want to leave any of it in the gun-choked public storage locker on Masonic.
    
      Personally, I was doing pretty well. Aside from a day job I could handle, I had access to a variety of pussy to satisfy any man. Janet was busy preparing for a huge asbestos case. One would've thought Janet Wu was a woman who was kind and gentle and all sugar and spice (and everything nice). That was bullshit. Her training was chiefly in corporate law and business liability, so she was a shark. She regarded morals and ethics separately in her daily life.
    
      Melanie, who was idealistic due to her empathic nature, would sometimes argue (passionately) for hours with her "jie-jie" about politics. Little Chen loved Janet like a big sister, but she would always find time to heckle her about her chosen profession.
    
      By now, Janet was an associate at one of law firms defending one of the companies based in the Bay Area. She was still pretty junior, but hardly wet behind the ears. She had gotten her practice at the civil division court circuit in the city, and it was her constantly shifting mind that would pick out the strategy of greatest success which helped her earn her career.
    
      Melanie was about to start her last year in high school (she was seventeen, going on eighteeen in January 2000). She was still the bright radiant girl from my childhood. Although it was criminal of me, Melanie cornered me on the weekend of my 23rd birthday (September '98) after we had finished grocery shopping and fucked my brains out.
    
      I had been getting it semi-regularly from Viktoriya and Shawn, but the former was now in New York City; the latter had to move back to her apartment in San Jose to start the new school semester.
    
      Melanie was innocent about it, but as she matured, she found she could sometimes monopolize my time because she lived so close to my house (by '98 she had a duplicate set of my house keys). One day, we got so caught up in our passion, we nearly forgot about my mother. My mother knew about my little darling and her proclivity for cooking, so she occasionally came to my room to cook with the bright young woman.
    
      When I heard my mother's voice, I pulled out and jizzed messily over Melanie's groin. Yu-Ching's eyes were wide as saucers as she wiped herself hastily with some wet-naps in my bedroom. We dressed and hustled outside to my kitchenette so fast we didn't have time to don our underwear.
    
      "Chen-tai*," Melanie greeted my mother sheepishly. [* Cantonese: Mrs. Chen]
    
      I made an excuse to finish a project so I could enter my room. I stuffed our underwear into a dresser drawer, in case my mother decided to snoop around (as befitted any nosy mom). I sensed Melanie's embarrassment, but she hid it as best she could until my mother left us alone. As soon as we were, Melanie fell into my arms in a swoon.
    
      "I was so scared nai-nai* would find out Stanley!" she confided. [* Cantonese: Elder mother, generally reserved for the mother-in-law]
    
      Actually, I thought wryly, my mother did suspect something was up. After all, she was young once. She also knew it was my birthday. And what better gift a woman could give her betrothed but a tender act of love?
    
      In one of those rare weekends when we all could meet, I managed to persuade Janet to come along to Shawn's graduation. Because of my plump pumpkin's new choice of major, she had to take an extra semester of courses (delaying her graduation to December). The good thing though, was that the University of California let her continue her studies on the graduate level at Berkeley (the same masters program I had been in).
    
      Melanie spent half her time at the Hotel and Restaurants program at City College (she was an early self-starter). Much of her vocational training was in restaurants, so she was able to spare some time to come along. This time, I brought along a cool thousand dollars. I wasn't going to short-change anyone, not at this point in my life.
    
      "Omigod!" Shawn cried, "You guys came!"
    
      My big dopey dumpling skipped down the stairs of her apartment and hugged Melanie. The petite Chinese girl was crushed between Shawn's massive boobage and let out a muffled squeal.
    
      "Air!" she cried, "I need air!!"
    
      The two laughed and hugged one another while Janet wore a wan smile. Sensing her uncertainty, I patted her hand.
    
      "She's harmless," I reassured my lovely First.
    
      "And she wants to be an engineer?" she gave me a sly look. "You sure you don't want me to introduce you to some insurance lawyers?"
    
      "Sure why not," I doted on my Lady Wu. "But I think she'll be fine. Shawn's looking to do landscapes; the building's all me."
    
      "I feel so much safer," Janet's tone was sarcastic, "With you barely keeping your pants up to draft the plans."
    
      "Hey now," I kidded her. "You promised you'd be nice. And besides, who said I can't draw while nude?"
    
      Janet sniffed but didn't answer as we stepped up to greet Shawn. Her parents had been there earlier for graduation, but the exercises were over and it was getting into early evening. The air was starting to get chilly. Shawn's parents were more than a little surprised that the man they thought their daughter was dating showed up with two other floozies (well mostly Janet, since we were holding hands, they probably mistook Melanie for my sister or something).
    
      My First still wore her hair short, although it wasn't shaped into a gelled-up sculpture any more. She wore it loose and much of her hair simply came down to the base of her skull (she looked more like a European model than anything). This, coupled with her plain Jane brown business attire, certainly inspired some curious glances from the Hortens.
    
      "Hello," Janet extended her hand. "I'm Janet. A friend of Stanley's."
    
      She had measured her words carefully. After our blow-up over Rachelle, Janet wasn't sure what she wanted to do with our relationship. We still dated, but Janet seemed more reserved and apprehensive. Only through Melanie's impassioned pleadings did she stick around. As luck would have it, Rachelle pretty much mended the rift between Janet and me in one fell swoop.
    
      When Janet heard about Rachelle's misbehavior, she came to see me if I was okay. Since I had just had a menage-a-trois with Viktoriya and Shawn earlier, I did feel much better but I played dumb and got some sympathy sex. It was awesome. Still, there were others besides Rachelle and Melanie. Janet was miffed that I was carrying on with Shawn (she knew nothing about Aurora and only met Viktoriya later). The two of us had certainly come a long way. I made a mental calculation: I met Janet in 1988. Now it was 1999.
    
      Wow. Eleven years. It was like we were married or something. Janet must've caught me day-dreaming because she squeezed my hand.
    
      "Stanley sweetie," she still occasionally spoke down to me when she felt like it, "Mrs. Horten asked you a question."
    
      "Sorry," I jerked from my reverie, "I was elsewhere. What is it?"
    
      We were in Shawn's apartment in San Jose. She shared it with another girl and a boy-girl couple so the rent wasn't exorbitant. Shawn was the oldest (and was moving out) so the three remaining tenants needed another housemate for next semester.
    
      "It's so weird, graduating in December," the roommate commented to no one in particular as mother Horten repeated her question.
    
      "Shawn's bringing her friends and house-mates along," Mrs. Horten said. "I was wondering if you and Miss Wu would like to join us?"
    
      "Ah, yes," I said and thought back to the thousand bucks I had in my pocket, "I think so, if you don't mind."
    
      "Oh, we don't mind the extra company," mother Horten said.
    
      Yes you do, you cranky old bitch. Of course, I knew she was lying. Any person who appeared polite when their dinner plans get interrupted was lying. Shawn must have inherited her pleasant side from someone else. I regarded one of my potential mothers-in-law with a pleasant but vacuous look while heaping on her a truckload of venomous thoughts.
    
      Lucky for her, she was okay on the eyes. Not super-model pretty but decent. It was comforting to me that Shawn had a 50% chance of turning out physically all right once she got old.
    
      We headed for the restaurant. It wasn't a fancy place, but it was family friendly. We ordered, ate, and made light conversation. As I ate, I thought it strange how well it was Shawn and Melanie got along. They had nearly nothing in common and wouldn't have met one another if circumstances had been different.
    
      "You're drooling." Janet had leaned over to steal some of my french fries and used it as an excuse to whisper quietly into my ear.
    
      "Sorry." I covered up my faux pas with a napkin.
    
      Janet reached for the salt, using the chance to whisper to me again. "It's not gonna happen."
    
      I gave her an 'Oh really?' look and swigged my soda bottle.
    
      Janet shot back a 'You wouldn't _dare_' glance. I also caught some of her wayward thoughts: 'I bet stupid Stanley thinks he can get lucky a second time.' (Janet had set-up my first three-way) 'Even if I did agree, there's no way that Shawn girl will go for it.' (Well, she might - she didn't mind Vika eating her out) 'He's probably thinking about it right now; and it's just from those two talking.' (That's right) 'What a pervert!' (What she said; huhuhuhu)
    
      I almost wanted to laugh out loud. Instead I gave her a saucy smile and winked. Janet's face flushed red immediately. She didn't know about my gifts, but we had been together so long we could practically read each other's body language. From the way she was acting, I knew she wouldn't be too thrilled about it; however, she wasn't entirely against it either. After all, Janet was the one who suggested the menage-a-trois with Melanie.
    
      'Who was the pervert now?' I thought-spoke like a smart-ass. Then I realized no one could've heard me (save Viktoriya but she was tuned out from me at the moment; even telepaths need quiet time).
    
      My body language suggested that I was probably going to go ahead with it if the chance provided itself. What Janet did not know was Shawn had already some three-way experience already with Viktoriya. Janet bit into her sandwich quietly, chewed a bit, and then turned back to her conversation on the other side of the table.
    
      Shawn's house-mates still needed a semester or two to go. While they were friendly enough, they didn't make much of an impression with me. Melanie was doing most of the chatting (and sister-worship) as she pestered Shawn about her studies.
    
      "... Stanley would love to see that," Melanie prodded me, "Wouldn't you guo-guo*?" [* Cantonese: Brother]
    
      "See what?" I only caught the tail end of the conversation.
    
      "Oh it's nothing," Shawn said airily, "Just something I did in my spare time."
    
      "Now, now," I chided, "We all do esquisses from time to time. What'd you have in mind?"
    
      "It's this roof garden thing," Melanie buzzed with excitement. "I think it's cool. I can grow stuff for our kitchen."
    
      "What kitchen?" Shawn asked.
    
      "It's mostly for me and Stanley," Melanie said jealously, "It'll be just like old times."
    
      "Well there's that thought," I said, "But I'm sure you can win some accolade as a great chef."
    
      I didn't want Melanie to grow up without a means to make ends meet. That would be destroying her life, even if she didn't know it yet. Melanie nodded excitedly then turned back to talking. The chatter buzzed to some other topics, from Ricky Martin to N-Sync to the Backstreet Boys. When they tired of music, the Hortens steered the conversation to Janet's career. My good Lady Wu answered as best she could without saying anything about the asbestos case; it wouldn't have gone over well anyway.
    
      Shawn, as discussed, had been accepted into the Masters program at "Berzerkly" and since she was doing some off-site internship (instead of assistant teaching), she was fine to live at her parents' place near Golden Gate Park.
    
      "So, Stanley," Shawn's father asked, "What do you do now?"
    
      Mr. Horten was around Tseng's age (maybe a little less) and he regarded me with suspicion.
    
      "Nothing special," I omitted my extra-curricular jaunts to Mexico, "Taking the APLC (architectural practitioner's license California) in a month or two."
    
      "Have you started at a firm yet?" he asked, "I know some people."
    
      "Friends of friends?" I smiled pleasantly at my choice of words.
    
      "You could say that," Mr. Horten's eyes flitted between me, Janet, and his daughter.
    
      I stayed pleasant and smiling. He couldn't read me, but he could certainly call up his own doubts. If I were he, I would have doubts too when a man my daughter was seeing suddenly showed up with a mysterious woman I knew nothing about.
    
      "Well, that would very nice of you," I said. "Shall I thank you in advance?"
    
      "Don't mention it," he said.
    
      A-ha. There was a catch. I plucked it from his mind as easily as a raw peach on a tree. If he arranged my interview, or gave me some recommendation, he was going to ask me to stop seeing Shawn. I rummaged through his thoughts: 'Damn Asians, taking our jobs and now my daughter.' 'Over my dead body.' 'He has someone, an Asian someone.' 'Why doesn't Shawn see that?'
    
      I smiled acidly and excused myself to the restroom. After I washed my hands, I shifted focus and clouded the mind of everyone in the restaurant with mental-apathy; no one would notice me until I made the effort on my part to show myself once more. I walked briskly out to the concierge and eyeballed the table set-up.
    
      A light dinner for nine probably came to about $30 a head. Some of us had appetizers and extra drinks. I counted out four crisp hundred dollar bills and tapped the matre'd.
    
      "Oh, I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't see you there. How many?"
    
      "I don't need a table," I said. "Table fifteen, party of nine. How much is the bill?"
    
      "Um," the girl typed up something on the computer, "Table fifteen you say?"
    
      "Yeah," I pointed towards the table where I could see Janet tilting her head this way and that, wondering where I'd gone.
    
      "That's uh," the matre'd tapped a few more keystrokes, "They didn't order desert yet, but it's 220 now."
    
      "Here's $400," I placed the bills on the counter. "Should cover it. If not, come to me for the rest."
    
      "Oh!" the girl exclaimed. "Of course. Getting a jump on the bill eh?"
    
      "Girlfriend's parents," I said curtly. "Anything I do will never be good enough."
    
      "Oh yeah," she slipped the money into the register and updated our bill. "I've been there; my parents are never happy with my boyfriend."
    
      Joy. I didn't ask you for your life story. Just handle the bill bitch, I thought dourly as I headed back to my table.
    
      "Where were you?" Janet asked when I sat back down.
    
      "Business," I replied laconically.
    
      Shawn's parents were surprised when the bill came to me. So was Janet. She peered over my shoulder and spied the amount.
    
      "Stanley?" she whispered, "I have plastic if you need it ..."
    
      I motioned I was all right. What I had left at the counter was more than enough to cover the meal. And my gratuity was overly generous. I thought it'd mattered little really. Almost all of the bills I handed out were either laced with Mexican cocaine or were counterfeits from Colombia.
    
      The Hortens were somewhat surprised (and relieved) that they didn't have to pay the bill. They had heard from Shawn that I had just got my masters just this year but not much else. Apart from showing up at their house to pick up Shawn for school dances, I hadn't talked with them much at all. I wonder if I wanted to explain it all, but thought it more fun to have the Horten's think Janet was my sugar mommy. I left it at that.
    
      By nightfall, the four of us (me, Shawn, Janet, and Melanie) were crowded into her apartment. Shawn's parents had left earlier, taking most of Shawn's things with them back to San Francisco. The other housemates had headed back home for the coming holidays. We remained chiefly because Shawn would be heading back with us in the morning.
    
      "So this," Shawn pulled a large drawing pad onto the desk, "Is what I wanted to show you."
    
      I sat next to Shawn while Melanie and Janet crowded around or looked over our shoulders. Shawn opened the cover of her portfolio and the sight was pretty impressive, at least to me. It was a drainage plan for a roof garden. Well, roof was a misnomer when I saw all the extra bracing Shawn included into her design. It was more like a fortified jungle canopy.
    
      "Wow." My mouth hung open as I studied the plans. Noticing the others were losing interest, I flipped the page and found Shawn's preliminary sketches so I could explain what she envisioned.
    
      "This is very impressive," Janet squinted a little, "But what is it?"
    
      "This is a roof garden Janet jie-jie!" Melanie said authoritatively.
    
      "Like the hanging gardens of Babylon!" She, Shawn, and I all said it in unison, which made us grin mischievously. Janet though, felt a little excluded.
    
      "Don't feel bad honey," I patted my First's hand, "It's just one of the seven wonders of the ancient world."
    
      "Boy I sure feel dumb," Janet sighed. "But what's all this about?"
    
      Melanie took my seat beside Shawn as I stood.
    
      "It's a plan I've been talking to Shawn and Melanie about for a bit," I explained. "I wanted to build a little place."
    
      "Oh?" Janet raised a brow at me, "Build it for whom?"
    
      I looked at her evenly, "For us of course."
    
      Janet's eyes flicked to the other two girls. She realized who I was referring to, and her eyes widened like saucers.
    
      "Stanley," she began, "What are you--?"
    
      "I love you Janet," I said and without hesitation added, "And I love Shawn and Yu-Ching as well."
    
      Shawn murmured, "Oh my God," but no one else said anything until Melanie got up and sat next to Janet.
    
      "You knew about this?" Janet wasn't talking to me, but to my youngest darling.
    
      "Sorry Janet jie-jie," Melanie clasped one of Janet's hands between hers, "But he wanted it to be a surprise."
    
      "Well I am surprised," Janet hugged her, just like in the old days.
    
      I sat with the three and explained my dissertation and my plans. There were two possible sites. I hadn't been able to settle on which yet, so I sketched them as best (and as fast) as I could. One was on 43rd Avenue and Geary Boulevard, the second was on Second Avenue and Lake Street. Both were zoned in a fashion that I could get away with as large a house as I could afford.
    
      The parking ranged from being a nuisance to "let's not think about it". I wanted some indoor parking so we didn't need to worry about juggling cars around for the city's street-cleaning. Traffic was manageable, and much of that depended on where we'd eventually work. As for schools, there were several. The second site had its own set of schools; the first relied on the same three schools Melanie, Andrew and I grew up in.
    
      Janet looked at me with bright eyes, "Schools?"
    
      "Yes," I returned her gaze, "You know why."
    
      "Oh, right." My First's ears burned bright pink. For the last couple years, I had been reading her mind and sensing her desire for children. We had skirted the issue here and there, but never seriously discussed it. Since Janet was older than I by nearly four years, it was only natural that she'd started around now. It just didn't come up when we were together earlier, since one thing or another got in the way, and we were both young as hell.
    
      "Janet jie-jie's blushing!" Melanie giggled.
    
      "Stop it, you!" Janet swatted her gently but she was grinning.
    
      "I'm serious," I said.
    
      "I know," my First turned to Shawn and asked, "What do you think? You going along with this?"
    
      "I love Stanley," Shawn replied, "I don't mind; my parents would be nearby, and I'm positive I could find work near or around the city. Actually, I'm more concerned about you guys than he is!"
    
      "That's true," Melanie cut in. "Stanley guo-guo can be selfish sometimes."
    
      "And lazy," Janet nodded.
    
      "And cheap," Shawn added.
    
      "You left out the part where I eat girls with big mouths," I growled. Who ever said keeping company with a gang of girls was the greatest thing ever obviously never tried it for more than five minutes.
    
      "Digging at 'the Y' isn't punishment," Janet said. Melanie giggled and Shawn blushed deep crimson.
    
      "Well, whatever," I sniffed. "I still want to make it official."
    
      "Official? You mean announce it?" Shawn spoke up, "My mom and dad will kill you!"
    
      "So, you still want to live near them?" Janet laughed. My plump angel blushed and kept silent.
    
      "No parents," I looked between them, "Not yet anyway. Not until we've proven that we can do this."
    
      "Well, makes sense," Janet sighed."My mom and dad are wondering if I'll ever get married."
    
      "C'mon," I tapped her knee to cheer her up. "Do you have any New Year's Eve plans?"
    
      "Apart from what's expected?" Shawn piped up.
    
      "Of course," I turned to Melanie.
    
      "I want to party!" she startled everyone by hopping into my lap.
    
      "Yu-Ching," I grunted under her weight. "Settle down."
    
      Janet ignored our by-play and shrugged, "I'm thinking about going out to City Hall for the fireworks, but with the case I'm on, I don't know."
    
      "Well," I gave her a wink, "If they settle out of court --" Janet scowled and was about to lecture me on legal malfeasance but I went right on "-- then you'll have time."
    
      I set Melanie down so she wouldn't hurt herself, then gave them the surprise. "I want to take you girls to New York City. Celebrate the year 2000 that way."
    
      Stunned silence. Then came a barrage of questions: "New York City?" "I haven't been there!" "Cool!!" "Wait! What? When!?"
    
      I answered them one by one, and maintained my trademark grin.
    
      "It's simple my lovely darlings." I addressed all as such for the first time. "I want to propose to each of you there in three week's time."
    
      "Oh Stanley!!" Melanie nearly screamed my ear off, "You don't even have to ask me! Yes! Yes!!"
    
      I picked her back up just so she'd get under control. Yu-Ching was bouncing around like an excited pup.
    
      "Do you mean that?" Janet asked warily, "It's not some ploy so you're trying to score some nooky right?"
    
      "Why would I go to all that planning?" I asked slyly, "Why not score some now?"
    
      Janet's jaw dropped at my suggestion then she closed it with an audible snap. Her cheeks dimpled as she glared at me. I picked up what she was thinking: 'I created a pervert!!' _good gawd_ 'Now I've got to marry him.' _sigh_ 'I guess he's not so bad.' 'I feel like such a -- what's it called? Cougar? Ugh. I feel so dirty.'
    
      I laughed more from her expression than what I mind-read. I leaned over and kissed Janet on her nose. My First blushed, embarrassed to be kissed that way. However, she enjoyed being kissed (anywhere actually), unlike Melanie, who settled for nothing but on her mouth.
    
      "Stanley?" Shawn squeaked and tugged my hand like a little girl.
    
      "What's up pumpkin?" I took her hand.
    
      "New York?" she asked pensively, and I knew what she was thinking: Viktoriya.
    
      "It'll be a surprise," I gave her a reassuring squeeze.
    
      "Stanley!" Shawn tilted her head and gave me a disapproving glare, "You tell them about Vicky!! Tell them right now!"
    
      "Who's Vicky?" Janet's serious tone nearly gave me a heart attack.
    
      "She means Viktoriya," Melanie spun around on my lap to face her. "Remember that girl I told you Stanley would visit me with?"
    
      "You little snitch," I pinched my freshly blossomed beauty. Melanie stuck out her tongue and made a cute noise as only a girl like her could.
    
      "Oh," Janet didn't seem flustered, "I remember Stanley mentioning her before. You've met her, Shawn? This Viktoriya?"
    
      "Oh yeah," Shawn replied shyly, "She's um --" she struggled for an explanation that didn't involve lesbian cunnilingus "-- very cool. She's a dancer."
    
      "Exotic?" Janet looked at me and sighed, "Or ballet?"
    
      "Actually I don't know," Shawn frowned, "I never asked."
    
      "American smooth, I think. But she'll try anything. Rumba, mambo, cha-cha, tango, you name it, she'll know it," I said and prodded Shawn with my foot, "See? Told you I was taking dance classes."
    
      "You smart-ass," Shawn jabbed me back, "Why don't you show us?!"
    
      I rose and pulled my plump pumpkin along to show what dance steps I picked up from Viktoriya (and a few others from her classmates). Melanie laughed as Shawn struggled under my lead while Janet looked on with an air of detached amusement. I was never musically inclined, but I found it simply easy to remember each step by setting up an arbitrary metering system in my head.
    
      Besides, Shawn could barely keep up, so I was pretty much moving her around like a toy doll the the entire time. Viktoriya was three hours ahead, but I gave her the good news through a mental broadcast.
    
      'Hello, Stanislav!' Viktoriya wore a smile as she gazed into a full length mirror to chat with me. 'So will I see you on New Year's?'
    
      'And the others too.' I didn't have to explain as I let Shawn tumble onto her bed, then whirled around with Melanie in a mock waltz.
    
      'So you told them.' Viktoriya referred to the others by her derogatory monikers less these days. Ever since she left for New York, she became a bit more humble when our minds connected. Her appetites however, remained the same. I could see Viktoriya reaching down to finger herself.
    
      'Can you kiss Melanie for me, kisa? I forgot you told me she's nearly eighteen. I want to -- ungh.'
    
      I sighed and relented. Viktoriya still wanted to experiment. She had pounced Shawn, but only dealt with Melanie when she was a younger girl. Now that she was older though, I wondered how long my vixen from the Volga could restrain herself. I caressed Melanie's waist and pressed my lips tenderly against hers. Yu-Ching quickly responded with a fierce lip-lock that tumbled me to the ground. Almost immediately, I felt intoxicating carnal energy pulse through the room.
    
      'Oh, Stanislav.' Viktoriya buckled and doubled over, her face contorted with pleasure in the mirror. 'She is so BEAUTIFUL.'
    
      Where was that energy coming from? Was it from me? From Melanie? Or Viktoriya? It didn't seem to matter much; the results were satisfying. Very satisfying.
    
      "Oh my," Janet murmured and fidgeted slightly, "Feeling amorous aren't we?"
    
      I looked past the side of Melanie's head and saw Janet lying lazily on the bed. She was looking down upon me like a bright radiant goddess. Melanie kissed my neck and her hands dove under my shirt, her frisky nature no longer fettered by any limits of age or decency. I chalked it up to her making up for lost time.
    
      "You know," I mustered a shy grin as I eyed my First, "You can join in any time."
    
      Janet laughed and reached down to tousle my youngest darling's hair. "Xieu Ching*, remember what I told you."  [* Cantonese: Little Ching, using Chen Yu-Ching's third character as its root; as a female originated diminutive, it carries a sisterly tone.]
    
      "Yes --" _smack_ "Janet --" _kiss_ "jie-jie," she barely stayed coherent as she tore off our clothing.
    
      "Tell her what?" I asked as I helped Melanie undress.
    
      "Use a condom," Janet looked at Shawn and asked her, "That couple who lives with you? Think we can borrow one?"
    
      'Just one?' That was Viktoriya from her place in Brooklyn.
    
      'You nympho.' I thought accusingly then echoed her request audibly. "Just one?"
    
      "Okay," Janet sighed. "If you think you can beat your personal best handsome, make it three."
    
      "You heard the lady," I grimaced as Melanie bit me hard on the neck. "Three it be."
    
      Shawn sheepishly slid out the door. When she came back, Melanie had peeled off my pants and was sucking my fat dick with her small mouth. Janet was watching us from the bed, her body idle, but her eyes bespoke of a quiet burning lust. Shawn knelt quietly beside me, condoms in hand.
    
      "Hey muffin," I drew Shawn close and kissed her.
    
      "Gawd Stanley," she said peevishly, "I guess this is like every guy's dream huh?"
    
      "Not quite," Janet spoke for me, "Knowing Stanley, he probably wants Viktoriya to watch."
    
      'She's right Stanislav. I do want that!' Viktoriya was swooning now. 'Janna* is honestly a woman after your own heart!' [* Viktoriya's personal variation of Janet's name. I am unsure of its origins.]
    
      Through mind-sight I saw the brunette straddling a giant plastic dildo suctioned to a small plastic bath stool. Viktoriya had set herself up in front of an old dressing mirror. I could see how the dildo was impaling her cunt by the reflection in the mirror.
    
      Oh, for the love of god. I swallowed and kept my focus strong and my gift in check lest I hurt anyone. Still, it was hard to do since I felt my nuts burn and itch. I desperately wanted to spew my load right into Melanie's eager mouth but I held out, gambling for a greater level of pleasure later.
    
      As I watched Melanie suck slavishly on my cock, Janet pretty much was ignoring everything as she watched the young girl take me into her eager mouth. Shawn teased me by putting her titties to good use. She nearly smothered me in those huge mothers. I suddenly remembered something we did one time when I visited Shawn.
    
      "Hey muffin," I suggested, "Why don't you show Jan that trick of ours with brushes."
    
      "You mean an electric toothbrush?" my First laughed. "I showed you that years ago!"
    
      "No, not that." A smile slowly crept across Shawn's face. "If you think it's okay, Stanley."
    
      "It'll be all right pumpkin," I kissed her breasts. "We're not going to paint with them ever again."
    
      "Oh my!" the plump girl laughed. "There goes another set!"
    
      "What are you planning, Stanley?" Janet eyed me and Shawn suspiciously.
    
      "Trust me baby doll," I rose and sat on the bedside, pulling Melanie along.
    
      Janet was hesitant, but she scooted over slightly. She then removed her jacket and slid off her dress. Her body was all woman now. Her C-cup breasts were perfect in many ways and her skin still soft and smooth. Janet lay down beside me on the bed, watching Melanie wolfing down my cock and waited patiently.
    
      Shawn in the meantime, came back with the "jerk off brush". It was a flat, wide brush designed for water colors or water-based paints. The bristles were pretty stiff but still pliant where it counted. Shawn and I were experimenting with water colors that time and wound up experimenting on each other. It proved to be fun and pleasurable, so why not share it?
    
      "Now spread your legs angel," I whispered to Janet, "Shawn's going to make you see God."
    
      "Oh really?" Janet lay back cautiously, "I don't think s--s--sooohhh--!!"
    
      She cried out as soon as the brush' bristles tickled her clit. Janet's sonorous one-woman scream was enough to scare Shawn into immobility. After a moment of hesitation though, my First took over and showed Shawn a few tricks of her own. There was just enough room on the full-sized bed for all four of us. I slammed Melanie's face a few more times before I pulled out and stuck her. Melanie literally wept with joy as I pounded her in the midst of the orgy. Turning to the side, she could easily see her "sister" Janet get her loving licks from Shawn's waterbrush and vice versa.
    
      Melanie was ecstatic. I realized that she was an emotional sponge, soaking up the excitement of the other girls (especially Viktoriya, even though she was only linked mentally) and then somehow broadcasting back out. It wasn't as strong as what I could do (otherwise it would've conked the other girls out) but it was strong enough to have an effect.
    
      This event coupled with the physical proximity of Janet and Shawn, two people whom my little Chen were very close to, drove her into a sexual frenzy. When I blew my load, Melanie uttered a long-strangled cry of pleasure that quickly cascaded through to the others. And thanks to mind-sight, Viktoriya felt the whole thing as well.
    
      I felt/sensed her thoughts raging through me in a mix of her native Russian, Ukrainian, and Romanian. After a few more torrid minutes, she was tuckered out. I couldn't blame her; afterall, the time difference between us was substantial. Viktoriya drowsily bade me good night and fell asleep nude under the covers of her. I could see that she didn't bother taking the dildo out; it remained inside her wet, sopping cunt.
    
      Seeing my lecherous Russian tootsie black-out in satisfaction gave me a second wind. I did Shawn next, as Melanie took over the brush and brought Janet several satisfying orgasms. They switched while I was still in the midst of pinning Shawn's knees to her shoulders. Her fat, floppy tits bounced and jiggled nicely as I rode her, nuzzled her neck, and felt her warm breath in my ear.
    
      Shawn scratched my scalp tenderly like a feline lover and panted breathlessly as a quiet tempest gathered within her. Her sweet nutty musk filled my nostrils as I plumbed her endlessly like an oil derrick. Our noses touched and I could feel her love glove rippling in sheer anticipation. When Shawn came, she uttered a soft cry. I arched my back and erupted a second time.
    
      "Nh--fuck--nnh--fuck," I wrung my juice box dry of juice as I streamed into Shawn.
    
      I fell aside and lay on the bed, totally exhausted as Janet crawled slowly on top of me. Seeing and hearing her, smelling and tasting her, feeling her with my mind and body, I roused myself once more to her enticement. Janet though, knew I was nearly spent, so she did the work. She spread her legs and straddled me. We both groaned as she pushed me into herself.
    
      Janet kissed my face, my shoulders, my chest and I reciprocated when I could. I knew what she was doing. We did it before when were were younger and I thought I had spent my last after an entire night of love-making. Janet was inexhaustible back then and we experimented a lot. Shawn and Melanie watched in quiet amazement as Janet, my experienced First, bewitched me as only one could after so many years of close association. Despite having shot my load twice earlier in the evening, my third (and final) sperm blast of the night was possibly the largest (and most painful) deposit I made.
    
      When I woke in a dazed stupor the next day, I could barely walk. I nearly stumbled when I tried to get up. Janet quickly took charge and she and the girls kindly bundled me in the car. She then took my keys and drove us all back home. The unexpected orgy aside, I later learned that would actually be my average weekend: just hanging out with my girls: my family.
    
    ===============================================================================
      INTERLUDE -- A NEW YEAR, A NEW AGE
    ===============================================================================
    
      As I had predicted, Janet's big asbestos case turned out to be a settlement through arbitration. Arbitration wasn't in the realm of her firm of lawyers, so she was able to get some much needed time off. Besides, few firms worked near the holidays (the courts tended to close early).
    
      Melanie was doing well in her vocational program and needed no one's help (she was a bright girl). Since she was eighteen and her parents had her younger brother Chen Yu-Wah to look after, she was in the clear as well. She had to do some convincing with her parents; they only consented after Shawn appeared as "the friend" who Melanie's parents thought was the main reason for the trip.
    
      Shawn, though, was the only one who had earnestly tough problems with her parents. Since she was an only child (her brother having died years ago), they were a little more protective. Her parents had met Janet, and they were suspicious even of Melanie (whom they knew was in my confidence) when she came to repeat the story used on the Chens.
    
      Melanie must've picked up something off me, because she was able to convince the Hortens that nothing unsavory would happen. I suppose that the Hortens were won over when they accidentally shook Melanie's hand. Oops! My little darling was latent, but I guess all those years hanging around me made her somewhat persuasive too. The Hortens agreed to the trip, and (better) didn't harass Shawn about it thereafter.
    
      Still, the logistics of it all were harsh. I barely managed to book four flights during the busy holiday season. Since coach was booked full, I decided to splurge a little and look into first-class (which was not as heavily booked, out of sheer expense). Thus, I was able to grab flights for all four of us. We landed at JFK airport a few days before the new year.
    
      Viktoriya offered to put us up for our stay in New York City, but I had also booked two adjoining rooms in a hotel on Manhattan in anticipation of this event a few weeks before (it was a gamble I was willing to take). The hotel wasn't a five-star place but it wasn't a dive either; it was easily lost in the maze of streets between Battery and Central Parks. I asked my Russian beauty to pack up some things for a week's stay and she positively jumped at the chance to stay in a room with three other girls.
    
      Oh yeah, I grinned. It was going to be one of those vacations.
    
      New York City was a helluva place. Surpassing San Francisco's history by 200 odd years made it that much more full of people and dense with infrastructure. For the first two days, Shawn and I were actually working, taking digital pictures of rooftops, apartment complexes, driveways (for me), gutter systems (for Shawn), and other architectural and engineering minutiae that would likely bore you to tears.
    
      Janet and Melanie hit the town with Viktoriya showing them around. They had a ball. I had taken some of the money I earned (and stole) from my business in Mexico and used biointroscopy (perception through skin) to weed out the duplicate bills. I kept the ones that felt the most "clothy" and gave my girls $2000 each before turning them loose. They certainly had their fun, although all but Viktoriya were suspicious.
    
      "Where'd you get all this?" Janet glowered at me.
    
      "I have a side job."
    
      "What kind of side job?" Janet asked with alarm. "What are you mixed up in?!"
    
      "It's a contracting thing," I dismissed her concerns.
    
      She wasn't all too happy, so I did my best to allay her fears.
    
      "Look, it's nothing illegal," I managed a smile. "So don't worry about it."
    
      Actually, the legality of it all depended on who was asked. The agency couldn't care less; the cartels used different terminology: muerto and "not muerto" (dead or not dead).
    
      "This is a lot of dough," my First hung onto her natural suspicions.
    
      "Oh don't worry," Viktoriya winked at me. "I am sure Stanislav planned this."
    
      "That's what I'm afraid of," Janet said with resignation.
    
      "Two thousand to match the new year," I quipped, "Just don't let it go to your head, cause it's once every thousand years."
    
      "So, like do we get three thousand for the year 3000?" Shawn chided me.
    
      "Start exercising," I poked her soft tummy gently, "Then we'll talk."
    
      "Meh!" Shawn made a face and stuck her tongue at me.
    
      That little disagreement, plus the fact that there was a lot of New York City to take in over the course of a week, were the only blights on the whole trip. Our body clocks hadn't adjusted from West Coast time so we couldn't do all the things we wanted; nor was there any massive orgy. After a whirlwind tour through the Big Apple, the last thing I wanted to do was spend all night fucking. I just wanted to sleep (and so did most of the girls). By the time we adjusted our inner clocks and had our fill of the city's sights, it was nearly time for us to leave.
    
      Still, the most important thing got taken care of. The rooftop of our hotel was a softly lit outdoor cafe on New Year's Eve. The nippy air was made more palatable as primly dressed men and women danced, drank, and partied the night away around big electric heaters. Servers in monkey-suits bustled to and fro as I seated my girls in turn. My four great beauties each wore an elegant evening gown that showed off both their inner and outer beauty.
    
      Janet wore a little black cocktail dress with few frills. With her hair gelled up, she was able to bare her slim shoulders and neck to the world. Melanie took after "Janet jie-jie" with a similar, if more conservatively covered, black party dress.
    
      "It's cold!" Melanie confessed to me privately. I laughed at her sensible practicality and kissed her.
    
      Shawn's breasts hadn't stopped growing, so the poor girl was one cup bigger (DD-cup). Few men on the roof saw her violet dress she had worn. They were probably aware that it did frame a great view of her cleavage though. Heck, even I was distracted.
    
      "Eyes up here mister," Shawn had to prod me a few times during the night.
    
      "Sorry pumpkin," I'd grin and wink. "Boobies don't have eyes."
    
      She'd then try to shove something into my mouth to shut me up. Viktoriya again made a very vivid impression. Her long red dress did her legs great justice when she'd stride across the roof. It made more of an impression when she and I took to the dance floor and spun a mambo into a quick waltz. It wasn't _that_ pretty, but it was just us having our fun.
    
      The five of us counted down the rest of the year then laughed and frolicked ourselves silly. I even called Faraz and wished him a Happy New Year. He and Ghandia were in San Francisco's Union Square waiting for the new year to come to them. He heard New York's gleeful roaring over the phone and congratulated me.
    
      "So my friend," he asked over the din. "Have they agreed yet?"
    
      "Yeah," I said with a smile, "About that ..."
    
      My grin was wide enough to reach both coasts. Technically, it wasn't yet the end of the milennium. However, the end of 1999 was the start of a new era for me: four glasses held by four beautiful ladies voluntarily touched mine at the stroke of midnight January 1, 2000.
    
    ===============================================================================
      COPYRIGHT: 2009. THIS WORK IS CONSIDERED PRIVATE AND ITS DISTRIBUTION IS
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                 DISTRIBUTION OF THIS DOCUMENT MAY BE CONSIDERED A VIOLATION OF
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                 FINES, INCARCERATION, OR CAPITAL OR OTHER FORMS OF PUNISHMENT.
    
                 PLEASE CHECK WITH YOUR LOCAL LAWS BEFORE CREATING OR DISTRIBUTING
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         AUTHOR: MAXIMILLIAN ZHANG
    
        EDITORS: FERMAT and VOYER
    
         E-MAIL: GREY228 [ON] HOTMAIL
    ===============================================================================


	3. Invisible Empire - Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stanley is an average kid - easily distracted, lazy, and unremarkable. Then he discovers he has not just a power, but several powers. Creepy abilities that can't be fully understood, or even mastered. Trouble begins when he starts using his powers, and in doing so, Stanley will meet Davey (from Steven Gould's 'Jumper' novel) and the Roget family (from Robert Cormier's 'Fade').
> 
> Many of the other characters are drawn from my personal past, although many more are simply stock characters (this is a porn story after all). I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
    
    
    ===============================================================================
      LEGAL DISCLAIMER
    ===============================================================================
    
    The following literary work is one of historic fiction. While certain elements may be recognized as based on actual events, the characters and personal events are fictitious. No actual persons were involved in the creation of this fictional work, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is pure coincidence.
    
    Certain characters portrayed within this work are copyrighted to Gould (1993) and Cormier (1988). The author wishes to express his deep gratitude towards the aforementioned authors for giving him creative inspiration when still a young man, and to stretch his imaginations beyond one's own reality. For this, and the countless other aspiring writers in the mainstream and underground markets you've inspired, the author sincerely thanks you. No malice or slight was intended by the willful inclusion of your marvelous creations into this work.
    
    This work is intended for adults, and features situations, dialogue, and descriptions that are unsuitable for minors. Please be mindful of your local laws and customs in regards to distributing or dissemination of obscene material. Thank you.
    
    ===============================================================================
    
          I am invisible, understand, simply because people refuse to see me.
    
                                       -- Invisible Man (Ralph Ellison, 1947)
    
    ===============================================================================
      AN INVISIBLE EMPIRE
    ===============================================================================
    
      You can see us, but you do not know where we are.
    
      You can hear us, but you do not know what we are.
    
      You can even speak with us, but you will not know who we are.
    
      We are an invisible empire, a secret kingdom, and we rule the world.
    
                                     =======
      -----------
      PREVIOUSLY:
      -----------
    
      Stanley recollects what the older telepath Tseng reveals about the invisible empire. Tseng later introduces Stanley to "the agency" (the United States' National Security Agency, or NSA). Thus begins Stanley's involvement in agency operations, illegal "odd jobs" to bolster his mettle, and his working relationships with Tseng and the teleporter, David.
    
      After graduating college, Stanley goes to Hong Kong for a family vacation. While there, he meets and seduces his first cousin Aurora Kwong. They have a brief, incestuous affair. Once they return home, they keep in touch only through electronic correspondence.
    
      On more personal level, Stanley and Rachelle have a lovers' quarrel and break-up over Janet's involvement. He meets her a few years later at Faraz's engagement party, only to find that she had found someone else. Sensing Stanley's depression, Viktoriya instigates a menage-a-trois with Shawn to cheer up her lover.
    
      Stanley makes plans to create a place where he and his darlings may live together in harmony. Eschewing Mormon and Islamic beliefs, he falls back on his own family's history of polygamy as well as literary sources for inspiration.
    
      As the year 2000 begins, Stanley has secured a promising job and received pledges from four girls: Janet Kam-Ling Wu, Shawn Ellen Horten, Melanie Yu-Ching Chen, and Viktoriya Lychenko to be his wives.
    
    ===============================================================================
      A LIFE IN FOCUS
    ===============================================================================
    
      When I was younger, I thought that building a house was easy as 1-2-3. Had I known that the actual business was such a monumental task, I would've gone into a different profession, or killed myself. Fuck architecture.
    
      Architects -- the ones portrayed glamorously in the media, or tragically in Ayn Rand's Fountainhead -- are the one in a million. More often than not, they're mostly unhappy, under great pressure, and at the end of the day, they say, "Fuck it," pull out the latest copy of Graphics Standard and cobble together the best design they can come up with.
    
      I was a shade above that, but I suspected it would not take much to drag me down. I had asked the girls to vote on their favorite site. I was fairly sure I could persuade either of the owners to sell their property, and I could get all the tenants to move before I started building (although Viktoriya was egging me to kick the tenants out with a little 'persuasion').
    
      Janet favored the site on 6th Avenue, since it cut her commute time down considerably; however, it was a little too close to the Golden Gate Park for Shawn's comfort. Having lived apart from her parents in San Jose, my pudgy pumpkin wanted to be as far away from them as possible. She favored the other place.
    
      Viktoriya didn't put in her preference. She had graduated from her institute in 1999 (hers being a four plus two program -- four years of undergraduate study, two more in graduate school) and had partnered with an older man that same year. She had flown to England for a week to compete in competition, and along those lines, she maintained she wanted to stay in New York for a little longer. They had some overseas competitions they wished to enter.
    
      'It will be fun, kisa.' Viktoriya blew a kiss into the mirror so I could see her. 'I will meet many skilled dancers!'
    
      I cracked my knuckles in frustration while I thought-spoke on my bus ride to work. I hadn't experienced jealousy of this intensity before. The idea of Viktoriya twirling nearly nude in another man's arms thousands of miles away rankled me. It reminded me of how I had lost Rachelle. I couldn't hide my envy fast enough.
    
      'Don't think like that Stanislav.' Viktoriya scolded. 'It is the last thing on my mind when I am on the floor.'
    
      'It better be.' I buried my envy and let my humor mask my emotions. 'And I guess I can't complain about the opportunity. Just let me into the ladies' dressing room and I'll call it even.'
    
      Viktoriya grinned roguishly, extended her middle finger, and gestured with it in the most perverse way possible by fingering her cunt before licking it. I was grinning stupidly at antics occurring on the other side of the continent and hardly noticed people were staring at me on the bus. They probably thought I was retarded.
    
      Melanie, sensitive to both Janet's and Shawn's feelings, also didn't put in her vote. Privately, she told me she didn't want to move. Wouldn't it be better, she suggested, to buy a second house, move my parents and Andrew out, and have things the way they were? As much nostalgia as my old room held, I knew I needed a place of my own. I wanted to expand my horizons and didn't need to live under my family's roof any more. By now, my life was a little more rough and tumble, and I wasn't sure if they'd agree.
    
      From my weapon seizures, I had picked up some interest in gunsmithing. Having gotten my masters in architecture, I found myself spending my newly acquired spare weekends at a gun shop in San Bruno (just south of South San Francisco). The owner and the namesake of the place was an old coot by the name of Barnes. We traded ammunition from the weapons I took from dead Mexican banditos and gang-banging thugs.
    
      The few pieces I had that could pass for legal I'd bring in and learn a few tricks about maintenance and gunsmithing. Heck, I picked up Barnes' entire experience after a few weeks; gunsmithing is nothing fancy once you figure out how all the parts interacted with one another.
    
      Although I didn't have a private license or agency authorization to carry a gun, I knew enough about them through my tinkering to disable them quickly. I didn't sell the guns (since many were illegally obtained anyway) -- just stockpiled ammunition and spare parts (springs, firing pins, and barrels mostly) for the ones I kept -- but I found the (legal looking) handguns handy. After buying state-approved magazines (California limited civilians like myself to magazines holding ten rounds or less at the time) I occasionally went shooting with some of my new co-workers.
    
      I haven't gotten to that part yet have I? I finally found a day job that didn't involve drugs, crime cartels, or cold-blooded murder in the middle of a sun-parched desert. Let me walk you through the process though.
    
      After I returned from New York, I took the architecture practitioner's license exam. At the time, California was engaged in heated debate whether or not to standardize their licensing with more than a score of other states. I had to admit that California was slightly unique: the state had a shit-ton of people living on the fault line. After the 1989 Loma Prieta Quake, seismic awareness (if not engineering) was a requisite for all design students.
    
      I passed my exam by the flimsiest of margins. It consisted of a two day design studio then a day of presentation. If you missed anything at any time, you were screwed. I couldn't use my gift of gab for the presentation since it was reviewed without you; if the reviewers understood your presentation, you passed. If they did not, then that was it.
    
      The worst of it was yet to come. The last part was a personal interview conducted by three licensed architects. Miss a question and you failed, regardless how well you did earlier (or how tired you were from it).
    
      The project was something only a sick mind could concoct: some fool wanted to create a facility to serve under-privileged and disadvantaged youth (read: potential gang-bangers) by day as well as house disadvantaged seniors day and night. Simply pushing it through just to accommodate both parties wasn't enough, I had to "hybridize" the project -- we're talking an ideal fusion of opposing objectives that only an academic, or a day-dreamer, could love. I met the bare physical requirements (which demanded a physical scale model) by drafting only the facade of the facility.
    
      I exceeded in presentation. My use of CAD allowed me to draft in roughly half the time (having the money to splurge on a hefty desktop didn't hurt either). This left me with the ability to draw on my own skills at visual presentation. I drew on youth-involved community programs and my own culture's stereotypical filial piety. People are suckers for Asians, especially if they think you're "traditional."
    
      When it came time for my interview, my gift let me pass it with greater ease than normal. A few quick scans and I knew what those fools were looking for. By the time Lunar New Year came around, I was a licensed architect in the state of California.
    
      Despite my success, I didn't let it all go to my head. I interviewed and got a job as a computer assisted drafter (not an architect) with Ferguson Design & Graphics in a cushy office downtown. Since I could bring projects home, I would meet Janet (her office was on Sacramento Street). This renewed contact cemented a decade long relationship. Janet and I rediscovered why we hung out so much (despite our occasional differences).
    
      Janet's firm (Friedman, Hoch, Brenner, & Glasser) was one that specialized in defending businesses from class action suits. Since her graduation, she was working on mounds of briefs, paperwork, and meetings for well over a year. The only vacation she got was for New Years. With Viktoriya in New York, Shawn busy at Berkeley, and Melanie splitting her time between high school and the culinary program at City, Janet and I found time again to re-connect.
    
      I invited her to stay over for a few days and she agreed, packing a few overnight items. It would also be a chance for her to take a look at the offers the owners were making for their buildings, as well as some of the drawings Shawn had done to "eco-friendly" the building.
    
      "Stanley?" Janet came in with her set of keys, "Stanley, where are you?"
    
      I heard her hollering a bit and cracked open the door to my studio in the outer room with a little telekinesis.
    
      "The usual, honey."
    
      I was putting the final touches on some construction drawings and I had to be careful. Unlike those glitzy plans you'd see at town hall meetings or in the movies, construction drawings were the actual "blueprints". Various contractors would use them to actually build the damn thing, so if I missed an important detail -- say, forgetting to note that there should be five screws at all the T-joints instead of three -- my company would get their ass handed to them on a plate in the civil suit, then I'd get fired for incompetence. Janet came in and put her arms around me.
    
      "Kiss me you big handsome guy you. It's Friday."
    
      "They asked me to have these ready Sunday morning," I reached up absently and pinched her arm. "Just so they can avoid paying me overtime."
    
      "Animals," Janet sniffed. "That's illegal."
    
      I shrugged. "I don't mind. Keeps me in practice."
    
      "Well," my lovely lawyer stood up in a huff, "I'm going to take a shower. What're we having for dinner?"
    
      "Considering we just let our parents know what we've been doing," I turned towards her, "I was thinking cheun-gaa-hui-xicfan*." [* Cantonese: Let's have a nice family dinner.]
    
      Janet hid her smile but I heard the giggle. I didn't know if it was from the incident from a few days ago, or if it just struck her as funny. This was how it started: ever since Rachelle, my parents hadn't seen me hang out with anyone (officially) save Melanie and -- on rare occasions -- Shawn and Viktoriya. Janet was one of my most well kept secrets (save the empire). We started seeing each other so furtively that it became second nature to us.
    
      When I finally introduced Janet to my parents, I had to deal with a sudden barrage of questions that came up. Even Andrew, my normally supportive little brother, was curious as to what was going on. Luckily, my mother remembered Janet, although only dimly. It didn't take her long to suspect something. She wondered how serendipitous it was for me to meet her again after all these years.
    
      Mother finally took me aside and asked her most pressing question: "Kgam yeung Yu-Ching hai lei-ge bien-ge*?" [* Cantonese: Then who is Yu-Ching to you?]
    
      When I put on my straightest face and answered, she fainted. Thankfully, I had been practicing my telekinesis so I could gently let her hit the ground without serious injury. When my mother got back up and told my dad, that was when things really got interesting (insert sarcasm here). My father was furious at my temerity, but I stuck to my guns. I suppose I could've done more, like brain-zapping his ass, but I didn't.
    
      Discipline and control were what I had to go on. Besides, I had a better weapon. An ally more potent than what I had for this problem: my devoted Lady Wu. Janet told them that she knew already. Part of it was her choice as well, and she didn't mind.
    
      "I made this decision Chen-sang*," [* Cantonese: Mr. Chen / authoritative] Janet used a gentle version of her court voice, "And I agreed to it because I love Stanley and I know he loves me."
    
      And that was it. Oh, we heard them arguing from my room below and their voices sometimes kicked up a storm. So much so in fact, that Andrew actually came down and asked to stay with us for a while until things quieted down. Once things did, he headed back upstairs. Janet didn't mind his company though, and made an effort to know him better.
    
      "Sorry Janet," Andrew shrugged apologetically, "You should've seen our dad's face when ah-guo* [* Cantonese: Big Brother (casual)] brought home Rachelle." 
    
      "Oh, I'm sure it was something." Janet smiled thinly. Andrew saw me scowl past her.
    
      "Uh sorry," my little brother laughed nervously, "I didn't mean it that way."
    
      "That's all right," Janet said, "It's in the past right?"
    
      "It looks that way," I lied.
    
      Actually, I didn't know. My last meeting with Rachelle was brief and it was one of the most confusing and painful moments I had. She had gotten engaged without even telling me. But now and then, I would see her emails and I would answer them as I did before, only with a little more attention. I learned a valuable lesson in communication. I left my responses open to more dialogue. Rachelle would write back and we'd exchange messages once a week or so.
    
      I shook off Rachelle's memory and focused on the task at hand. I finished checking through the project drawings a third (and by most standards, final) time while Janet was still in the shower. I saved the project, backed a copy to a Jazz disk then stood up for some exercise.
    
      While Janet was still occupied, I juggled several paperweights, my chair, wastebasket, and pillow to stay in practice. When I heard the shower's hiss go silent, I quietly set all the items back down and headed to the kitchenette. Janet came out, her body hidden only by a towel before her; her back was bared for all to see.
    
      "Water dear?" I looked up with a smile.
    
      "No thanks," she was hardly surprised to see me but she kept her towel, "Um, could you turn around?"
    
      "Why you beautiful girl you," I stepped close and slid my arm around her waist, "Give your fiance a kiss. It's Friday."
    
      A slow grin came to Janet's face as I pulled her towel and draped it over the back of the chair.
    
      "Why Stanley," she murmured, "Aren't we going to dinner?"
    
      "In a little bit," I picked her up easily despite the fact she had gained a few pounds. "I just want to give you a few swimmers first."
    
      "That's not appetizing," Janet wrinkled her nose at me. "At least have the decency to shower first, you big stinky lug."
    
      "Who said anything about appetizers?" I kissed her. "I'm making this the main course."
    
      Janet's eyes widened like saucers. "You're serious?"
    
      "Course I am," I nodded.
    
      "I don't know sweetie," Janet squirmed a little. "I mean I just did start at the firm last year."
    
      "Probation's over," I lay her down gently on the sofa. "I thought you wanted this?"
    
      Janet said nothing but I sensed her nervousness.
    
      "The house hasn't been built yet you know," she lectured me while in the most ridiculous pose: her legs and feet pointed high into the air.
    
      "So by the time he or she pops out, it'll be done." I sounded more sure of myself than I really was.
    
      "C'mon," Janet stroked my arms and face, "Let's talk about this afterwards, okay?"
    
      "Fine," I sighed and got up. My hard-on made it a little difficult.
    
      As I stepped towards my studio to get dressed, I looked back at Janet, who still lay there with her legs splayed apart.
    
      "You coming?" I asked.
    
      "Oh, I will be, Stanley," Janet rubbed her pussy deliciously. "Have you forgotten what saran wrap is for?"
    
      I grinned and headed back to the kitchenette. I pulled out a thin piece and whipped out my stiffening cock. I dripped a little vegetable cooking oil and knelt between Janet's legs.
    
      "Stick me baby," Janet cooed. "Fuck me like old times."
    
      She was nearly twice her age from when we first fucked. Janet had grown older, her body a little softer and a little less firm. I wasn't yet 25 (not until September of 2000) and Janet wouldn't be 29 until June. Janet's sedentary lifestyle made her a little flabby, though not much so that she was unattractive. If I was inclined to be so shallow, I wouldn't have paid girls like Shawn much attention.
    
      No, Janet, like my other darlings, had beauty that was more than skin deep. Oh, I'm sure I'd bone a pretty hot chick if the chance arose. I did exactly that with my cousin Aurora, but I didn't grow more fond of her. We remained pen pals over email and we didn't exactly click.
    
      Janet groaned as I slid into her. The saran wrap stretched but didn't break as I began to pump her slowly. I looked deep into her eyes and smiled. She grinned back and scraped my stomach lightly with her nails. I shivered as she did so, eliciting a saucy grin from her lips. Janet took my arms and stroked them lazily. The rhythm she wanted me to fuck her with, she reproduced by stroking my palm.
    
      "Easy Stanley," Janet guided me, "Easy there. That's it. That's right. Ooohh ..."
    
      She was my tutor and my first love. She taught me manners and showed me a world a little bit past what I could see as a stupid kid. All these memories I had came back and nearly overwhelmed me, but I kept them in check; I knew I was able to hurt her easily with a stray thought.
    
      I had grown, and so had she. I didn't want to do anything to hurt Janet. I would do anything to protect her. I loved her and she loved me. I leaned forward and kissed her. She held me tightly as I came with a jerk. The two of us were bright, happy and gay as we went out to dinner with her parents and mine.
    
    ===============================================================================
      BONER-IFFIC
    ===============================================================================
    
      That night, Janet and I talked a little about our future, about everyone's future, while we lay nude under the bed covers. We had flashlights underneath and it felt like an old-style slumber party; a naked slumber party.
    
      "It'll be just a bit longer," Janet tapped her finger on a small calendar.
    
      "You sure?" I asked her, "You're how old now?"
    
      "28 and-a-half. I think I can wait a little longer."
    
      "I guess so." I didn't feel as old as she did. But time did seem to fly by. I did some quick math. We'd known one another nearly twelve years. I knew Melanie and Shawn for about eleven, and Rachelle -- had she remained intimate -- for about the same. Only Viktoriya was lacking in the length of time; I met her later, giving us only six years. However, she more than made up for it in effort and telepathy. Janet, in the meantime, had been talking a little more, but I only listened with half an ear.
    
      "... Stanley," she growled, "Are you even listening? If you can't keep track of our birthdays, there's going to be hell to pay."
    
      "Tell me about it darling," I pushed Janet's calendar off the bed and rolled her onto her back.
    
      "What do you think you're doing mister?" she sounded annoyed, but I saw a trace of mischief in her eyes.
    
      "We're going to play house," I chuckled, "And the scenario is 'daddy's home and he's horny'."
    
      "Li-xieng-xshie*," the bob-haired beauty slapped me playfully and laughed. [* Cantonese: literally, Do you want to die? colloquial slang meaning 'Yeah right!' or 'You wouldn't dare!']
    
      "Laopo-lum-hei-di-xie-mun-jai*," I whispered into her ear, "Think of the children." [* Cantonese: Wife (said in this fashion, it may be construed as 'little wifey') think of the children.]
    
      Janet let out a muffled groan as I pressed against her. She played with my ears and mimed Reverend Lovejoy's wife's (Helen) whiny screech, "Won't someone PLEASE think of the children?!"
    
      We both laughed. Janet had enjoyed a few of The Simpsons with me. Might as well, since Rachelle was no longer around. I bit her lips gently and then nuzzled her neck. Janet sucked in her breath as she held me.
    
      "You're crushing me Stanley," she murmured, "Can I get on top?"
    
      "Sure thing dear," I rolled her atop me and she sat up, throwing off the covers.
    
      It was strange. Almost like that night so long ago when we had our first bare-backed night of love. Janet's hips swayed as she straddled me. My already hardened prick was working slowly into her depths as she gyrated. I let her work slowly. We hadn't done much foreplay so she would be a little drier.
    
      "Ung--gawd," Janet shuddered as I entered her.
    
      She leaned forwards so she could be with me. Her soft tits pressed against me as I savored the taste of her lips and skin. Janet's warm breath was tinged with a touch of mint from our toothpaste and felt wonderful as she kissed my face and neck. I stroked her back gently as she began to move ever faster.
    
      Janet let out a pleasurable gasp as I reached out slowly with my mind and stroked her mentally. Her pussy was getting wetter as her hips moved in a strong rhythm. In the dim light of my room, I could see her most prominent features contort as she approached orgasm.
    
      I heard her thoughts clearly as she held my head and locked eyes with me: 'God I want this.' 'I need this.' 'This is it.' 'I'm taking the plunge.' 'I'm going to be a mommy.'
    
      I seized her hips tightly as I shot my load deep into my first love. Janet's mouth hung open as she felt the warm spread of my baby butter inside her. All she could make were incoherent sounds as I ground myself against her body. She collapsed in a heap atop me panting, her pussy quivering, her body shivering.
    
      I used the darkness to cover my telekinesis. I drew the covers over her as she stretched herself over me, my cock still inside her. After a few moments of silence, I heard her rustling and I moved a little so she could sleep by my side.
    
      "Stanley?" she whispered. "Are you asleep?"
    
      "Not yet," I touched her. "What's up?"
    
      I was earnestly too tired to read her thoughts by then; still, some of it floated through: faceless children, an uncertain future, and the other girls would occasionally pop up. I get it: she was wondering when the others would go preggers.
    
      "What should we name him or her?" Janet draped an arm and leg over me.
    
      "Anything you want," I murmured. "I'm sure our parents will give you pointers."
    
      "I know," she said drowsily. "Imagine that Stanley. We'll be like them in a few years."
    
      Her words jolted me unlike anything I had felt. Of the things I've experienced. The lethal take-downs during my "odd jobs", the fall-out with Rachelle, David's matter displacement, Tseng's destructive potential, all of that seemed moot.
    
      All that paled in comparison to our mortality in the face of ever-marching time. Eventually, we'd all be relegated to dust. Suddenly, it seemed like I'd never have enough time. Not with myself, not with my girls, not with all that I worked for.
    
      I listened to Janet's steady breathing and realized how unfair it all was. To have worked so diligently, only to enjoy it for a few years. It was unfair, I thought as my eyelids drooped. Suddenly, things didn't seem all that fun anymore. I just had more things to worry about and less time to do so with.
    
    ===============================================================================
      THREE COUNT TECHNICALITY
    ===============================================================================
    
      Lunar New Year (a fifteen day celebration here -- it lasts a month in China) was generally a good time for me. Being Chinese and part of an extended family of Chens in the United States, one gets a load of lucky money (of course, one's parents' bleeds out a similar amount, so the exchange is usually even). A few days after the city's Miss Chinatown parade, the most frugal of us would generally deposit the cash right to the bank.
    
      Of course, having done several "odd jobs" with Tseng in Mexico, I had nearly two million dollars in drug money stashed in my house. Then things got even more interesting. I took four-day weekend to do another "odd job" with Tseng -- this time an accidental loss of shipment -- a few miles past Ojinga and became nine million dollars richer after the even split.
    
      Technically, Tseng and I weren't supposed to do any more "odd jobs" but then again, the agency wasn't exactly knocking on our door with assignments. I could barely deposit one-percent of the stuff since I wouldn't have receipts for it if I was audited. While I would've gladly paid the taxes on it, Tseng wised me up that I could practically write off a large chunk of my house payments (a mortgage on real-estate). If I played my cards right, he informed me, I could be taxed in a way that would let me keep most of the money I earned, have a place for my girls, and live comfortably for the rest of our days.
    
      'Either that, or buy into industrial commodities like gold, bauxite, silica, or lithium.' Tseng advised.
    
      I wasn't a financial whiz and stocks smelled fishy to me. It wasn't something I felt was tangible, like a house or real-estate. In any case, the place I wanted to build for me and my lovelies was still in (my then) future. And until I had a method of financing a purchase on paper, I couldn't start the project.
    
      So, being the frugal little Chinese bastard I was, I lived like a hermit and sought a way to launder the money I had in a different way. With the Lunar New Year envelopes, I figured I could sneak in at least a thousand dollars into one of my accounts. The IRS wouldn't find it odd if I did that on an annual basis (they would if it was a monthly occurrence).
    
      Still, a thousand dollars was nothing in relation to the project I wanted to do. I was standing in line wondering how to launder more money without being caught, when the robbers came in.
    
      In my defence, I was preoccupied. I mean, really preoccupied. I was busy mulling over: money-laundering schemes. Tseng and I had collected so much, it was nearly impossible to launder it without professional help (or undergoing a RICO investigation).
    
      Next, there were the project's two possible sites: one of the owners got cold feet and wasn't sure if she wanted to sell, while in the other the tenants were willing to relocate if I could allow them to live in the new building (not an option for me) or get them a similar rent in another building (also impossible). Then there were my latest set of drawings at my company (Ferguson Design and Graphics), which were pretty run-of-the-mill stuff. Tedious, but manageable.
    
      Also on my mind were several things that hit closer to home: Viktoriya's parents had moved. They had bought a house in Eckhart, Indiana (of all places) after they became empty-nesters; both she and I had pitched in to help them move. This meant that Viktoriya would be staying in New York City unless I could give her a reason (and a home) to come back here.
    
      There was Melanie's graduation in June (and I had promised to bring her to a something or other concert -- N-Sync I think it was -- for her graduation present), along with my brother Andrew (they were the same age). Additionally, my parents were pestering me to get my own place so my old room could be rented out. That meant Melanie would have to stop her frequent visits until I got the new place. We were in the midst of working something out (so I could go to her place) although I was sure her parents weren't terribly thrilled at the prospect.
    
      Shawn meanwhile, suddenly found herself going to Japan to study at the technical institute in Tokyo. The timing of it was curious. I thought she had been accepted into the Berkeley program. It was then when I knew Shawn possessed a craftiness that belied her roly-poly appearance. Instead of continuing with landscape architecture, she changed her major to environmental engineering. This gave her an academic advantage during her undergraduate years; her high GPA and relative ease of landscape architecture courses allowed her to brush up on the skill set she'd need for her graduate studies.
    
      My plump pumpkin was a smart woman indeed! Still she was not smart enough to outwit her protective parents. I suspected they packed her off to another country to keep me away from her (although sending her off to a country full of horny Japanese guys wouldn't have been my ideal solution). I wondered how Shawn would get by without being able to read or speak Japanese, but I found out that she had taken back-to-back introductory and intermediate Japanese in college.
    
      "Don't worry Stanley!" she beamed brightly, "There's enough signs in English to tell me what's what, so ko-nichi-wa*!!" [* Japanese: Good afternoon / colloquial equivalent to good day.]
    
      "Well 'good day' to you too," I said with a grin.
    
      "Wait, what?" Shawn frowned. "I meant 'good-bye'."
    
      Having been to Japantown's boutiques a few times, I knew some Japanese.
    
      "Um muffin," I looked at her with worry, "I'm quite sure that was 'good day' or at least 'good afternoon'."
    
      "Oh yeah. I guess you're right," Shawn thumbed through a small pocket dictionary. "I meant to say sai-o-nara*." [* Japanese: Good-bye.]
    
      "Honey, you worry me." I regarded her with such distress, my plump angel hugged me tightly as if to comfort me. I wanted to get her a good electronic dictionary and translator before she left in fall.
    
      Next, Faraz's and Ghandia's wedding was going to be in August; I hadn't heard a thing about Rachelle and Craig since that disastrous dinner last year. About the only two constants seemed to be my cousin Aurora's constant emails (the earliest form of 'sexting') and Janet's promotion to full-fledged attorney. My darling First and I simply planned for a quiet evening out with her close co-workers and some friends at a sushi place she frequented.
    
      I barely had time to keep myself in practice, or even attempt to learn new things. Mind-reading made learning new skills a snap although depending on what was required, I may not have had the physical ability to carry it out. While I picked up some kung-fu and self-defence moves, I wasn't physically strong enough to deliver such blows.
    
      Thankfully, I was able to fortify my lack-luster physical side with my mind. Despite having Viktoriya 3000 miles away, I was learning to develop my telekinesis. I was able to focus it to the point where I could duplicate the technique Tseng demonstrated to me years ago.
    
      By focusing my gift into a very narrow point, I could bore metal and stone. This new trick I used to dig out the required 1.83 millimeters of metal where most serial numbers are stamped on gun barrels and slides. I spent several weeks testing myself and "cleaning" the guns at the Masonic Street storage room into "ghost guns".
    
      So, where was I? Oh right. The bank robbers.
    
      Since I was so preoccupied, I didn't notice when the three masked assholes stepped into the bank. I should've felt something amiss, but their intentions escaped me until the last minute. They moved quickly once they were in position. One of them clubbed the old security guard across the face while the other two vaulted over the counter to take the cash in the drawers.
    
      One of the cashiers let out a hoarse scream but was roughly kicked by one of the men at the counter until I could hear her sobbing quietly. The third thug kept his back against the side of the door, waiting to ambush anyone stupid enough to enter.
    
      "Hey you," robber number three yelled at me, "Hands out of your pockets. Put them on the counter over there."
    
      I was still standing in line in a daze and didn't understand what was happening until I was being talked to. People walking by the bank could see in, but they didn't. It was a busy work day, but I had called in a half-day vacation to deposit my lucky money and then have lunch with Janet before heading to work. I sauntered to the counter in the middle of the bank lobby and placed my hands palms down on the counter-top. The two masked men behind the cashiers' counter moved out quickly. One of them rifled through my pockets and found my packet of money.
    
      "Stupid Chinese shit," he muttered, "Guess this isn't your lucky day huh?"
    
      I didn't know if it was bravado, stupidity, or me just being cross. Maybe it was one, two, or a mix of the three. Tseng had warned me not to engage in any stupid ploys that would reveal the existence of the invisible empire. Until I met the "jumper" called David, I thought the "invisible empire" were comprised mostly of telepaths like myself.
    
      But having met him, I wondered what the "invisible empire" really was? A power struggle or some conflict of interest among our kind? That was doubtful. Tseng was shady about the whole thing. He seemed content to gorge me on money and extra-curricular activities to keep me occupied. Well, the agency already knew about Tseng, me and David. So, why didn't I have a little fun?
    
      The robber regarded my sudden smile like I was crazy. I was smiling because I was thinking how Viktoriya was so brazen at times. We had shared so much during our time together that I wondered if some of her brazenness became nestled into the bosom of my mind. Gun safeties are easy to find and activate. Never attack a psychokineticist who knows the intricate mechanisms of gun safeties. Magazine releases are a little harder, but they generally fall near where a person's hands will clutch their handheld boomsticks and pea-shooters.
    
      In the blink of an eye, the three thugs' guns were leveled into the SAFE position. I lashed out and punched the thug -- number two I guess -- in the side of his neck as I shifted focus and depressed the magazine release on thug number one's handgun. Someone past the counter screamed.
    
      _CLICK_ _CLICK_ _CLICK_ _CLICK_ _CLICK_ _CLICK_ _CLICK_
    
      The two thugs pointed their weapons at me, but nothing came out. Thug number two was jerking spasmodically on the ground, the back of my hand had made contact with the skin at his neck. His brain was fried with the imagery of dead and dying Mexican banditos and SoCal gang-bangers, as well as the astonished faces of Katherine Heeber's kidnappers as they died.
    
      I quickly knelt, using telekinesis to snatch the fallen thug's handgun, a Taurus 9x19 that had been "ghosted" (no serial number), into my hand, flicked it back into UNSAFE and fired twice.
    
      A 'normal' like you would be amazed how accurate a handgun can be when telekinesis is properly applied in just the right amounts. With it, the recoil was next to zero (because one focused on keeping the body of the whole weapon 'locked' and immobile when it fired; it took training to release one's grip on the weapon then secure it again once it was aimed at the next target) and the bullet pretty much went where you aimed at.
    
      Still, this did not mean I could hit something I didn't deliberately (and carefully) aimed at; however, at the range those two thugs were, it was quite easy for me to pop their tops. The two other robbers' blood and brains decorated the walls, floors and windows behind them. Pink mist indeed.
    
      I brought my gun back down as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and stood up once more. I looked down at the thug I had felled with my gift. I deliberated if I needed to kill him. Unlike that one fight at the pizzeria years ago, I was sure Tseng -- or others of his ilk -- wouldn't be able to cover up two dead bodies. That plus a witness who was privy to memories of illegal activities on the US-Mexico border would be "problematic".
    
      I regretted my decision, but discovery meant death anyway. I aimed the thug's handgun at his head. I saw his eyes blink as he slowly regained his faculties. He stared at the gun, and then at me. I thought about taunting him, but that ultimately served no purpose. My face was the last thing he saw as his thoughts went dark.
    
      This time, I couldn't avoid the fallout as I did from the pizzeria years ago. The two men I shot in "self-defence" were justifiable. However, the slaying of the third perpetrator as he lay there on the ground was considered "something to look into". So much for 'normal' justice.
    
      Despite the third thug being "technically murder", I was cause celebre in the local neighborhood. The police identified the three as members of an off-shoot of a Latino gang which had expanded out from the Mission District. So much for 'normal' criminal expansion too.
    
      Almost too late, I realized that this might be a problem if the gangs decided to retaliate. San Francisco might run slick with blood if that occurred. Unlike Baja California Norte, my girls would also be in the line of fire. The president of the Richmond Business District and the bank wanted to hold a party in my honor, but I demurred with feigned modesty. My family certainly didn't feel the same way as the businessmen did.
    
      If there was one thing good about the incident, it allowed Janet and my mother to share their concerns over my well-being. Both were in hysterics when they learned about the shooting at the bank. My mother needed to sedate herself and lie down. My father wasn't too proud either; in fact, he was suspicious; he'd never seen me get physical with anyone growing up, let alone shoot firearms of any kind except those rare weekends when he'd take me to the range.
    
      "What were you thinking?!" he roared in my face, "You want to get yourself killed?"
    
      I had no answer, so I stayed silent as he stormed back upstairs in face of my mute expression. Once Janet and I were alone, she held me tightly and sobbed while I cradled her in my arms. Unlike David, my family was more or less normal. That meant my parents gave a crap about what I did and my well-being. Sure, there'd been scoldings and spankings when Andrew and I were younger (Andrew was better behaved), but nothing close to the abuse that dumb bastard suffered through.
    
      My father had worked the swing shift at a Federal job for nearly three decades (he retired a few years later under the Civil Service Retirement program, not Social Security) so he was absent most of the time when I was growing up. Apart from our annual summer vacations and the occasional weekend together, I had grown up myself.
    
      Well, until Tseng came along. Apart from suspecting his deep personal involvement in the disappearance of Viktoriya's brother, I began to suspect something else as well. Had he an ulterior motive for taking so much interest in me? By now, Tseng and I shared similar gifts only because he was teaching and guiding me how to use them.
    
      My body got an uncontrollable shudder when I thought about Tseng. Sometimes I had wondered if he was my real father. The age would fit more or less. He was about my parents' age. I remembered that pretty blonde waitress at the coffee house a few years back. I saw him use his hand to touch her skin-to-skin. Tseng showed that he too, could do what I did if he wanted to.
    
      Discipline and control my ass, I soured. I pushed that unpleasant possibility out of my mind. If it came up again, I'll ask; somehow, I was sure I wouldn't like the answer.
    
      It was a long day, answering questions for the police. In the immediate aftermath of the bank shooting, I knew I pretty much was caught. So, I had disassembled the gun I'd fired and sat down to wait. By nightfall, things were pretty much quiet, save for an under-current of tension that ran through my house. Janet retired to the outer room and no doubt heard my father bellowing upstairs at what he perceived as my rash behavior.
    
      Oh, if he only knew about all those _other_ incidents along the border. I was tempted to confess them all right there, even if it meant Tseng showing up. It would've been fun. My dad probably would've keeled over with a brain aneurysm or a heart attack. I didn't need THAT on my conscience (or my mother's) so I let it be and hopped into the shower.
    
      After I dried and dressed, I found on Janet in the studio. She was lying uncomfortably on the spare sofa-bed plush I kept there when I wanted to nod off and was too lazy to sleep in the inner room. I picked her up and carried her gently with my arms to the bed and tucked her in. I held her hand for a bit then slipped next to her under the covers.
    
      Saturday was a little better. Melanie knew nothing of the incident, and both Janet and I decided to avoid mentioning it unless asked. The police had questioned but not detained me, so I figured the next step was up to them. I didn't feel like celebrating, but I did take the unusual step of taking Janet and Melanie to Chinatown. We had dim-sum at the teahouse where my two regal darlings met, did some shopping on Kearny and Clay then wandered back to the parking lot on Portsmouth.
    
      Walking with them in the old district gave me a strange nostalgia. I had done something similar with my parents when they first started out in the mid-seventies. I had walked hand-in-hand with my mother as my father bought groceries. How things remained so similar after all these years!
    
      On the way home, I made one unscheduled stop at Japan Town. Fifteen minutes and $300 poorer, I had the perfect going-away present (electronic dictionary with voice) for my plump dumpling's stay in Japan.
    
    ===============================================================================
      NICE SHOOTIN' TEX
    ===============================================================================
    
      Monday started off pretty normal, at least in the morning. I headed into work and, because I was running a little behind a project (the machine was slow to render for some reason or another), I bought a hefty sandwich and headed back to the Ferguson office.
    
      "Hey Stanley?" I heard a knock. It was Franky, my cubicle neighbor.
    
      "What's up?"
    
      "You did something over the weekend?" he asked. "The police are in Mr. Ferguson's office, asking about you."
    
      "Fuck," I stood and knew there was no real place to go. "Can you cover for me?"
    
      "I guess so," Franky shrugged. "But you owe me. That lawyer girlfriend of yours have any friends?"
    
      "She might," I replied absently. "I'll ask."
    
      "Yeah sure," he didn't sound convinced. "Well, I guess you're going to need her anyway; sounds like they want you bad."
    
      "Whatever," I dismissed Franky.
    
      My colleague was pleasant but balding, a loner, and (from my private readings) a man who was addicted to well-hung she-males. I headed to Ferguson's office and found the door ajar. I pushed it open and found the same cop who had responded to the bank on Friday there along with a plainclothes detective talking with Mr. Ferguson.
    
      "That's him," Ferguson nodded towards me. "You want to tell me what this is all about, Stanley?"
    
      "It's nothing," I said plainly.
    
      "Nothing means cops aren't in my office asking about a guy I just hired fresh from college, sonny," the old man replied. "I heard a bank customer shot three robbers Friday. Was that you?"
    
      "Sounds like it," I was sick of the hero bullshit, "Which bank was it?"
    
      "Wells Fargo," the detective was not impressed by my cocksure attitude. "Please, come with us."
    
      The cops lead me out, my lunch sandwich in hand. I didn't even have time to bring my coat! I ate my lunch while I rode with them to the station near where the bank was. Once there, I was lead into a conference room and I sat facing a one-way mirror. It was pointless to keep me in there, because I could sense the presence of witnesses past the mirrored glass.
    
      The detective asked me some more questions, like my training (architecture), background (normal kid), and how I was able to dismantle a handgun like a seasoned professional (read about it online).
    
      "Hey man," the detective, one Jacob Waters, started his spiel. "Witnesses said you shot the third suspect when he was down and plainly unarmed. You could be booked for murder or man-one."
    
      I shrugged and kept my mouth shut.
    
      "Look you got a clean record," Waters sat back, "Why muck it up with a felony?"
    
      "You think," I picked my words carefully, "That I will be charged with something?"
    
      "I think so," the detective said under his breath, "So c'mon man. Who are you really? Your records didn't show any military training, so are you in a gang?"
    
      "No." I was starting to dislike his method of questioning.
    
      "No, of course not." Waters gave me a fake smile. "But if you want protection, you'll need to come clean with us."
    
      "Why would I want protection?" I asked.
    
      "You know those three you killed?" Waters rummaged through something in a vanilla folder and pulled out some mug-shots. "Members of Sin Titulo, a street offshoot of some Tijuana cartels."
    
      "The Nameless?" I asked. In the excitement of being attacked so close to home, I only scanned enough to know the robbers were Latino or Hispanic. I didn't even get their names and addresses.
    
      "Odd name," I remarked.
    
      "Yeah-yeah," Waters tried not to sound frustrated, "Odd until you find out why they call themselves that; they've killed some people. Skinned their faces off so they can't be identified."
    
      Interesting I thought. It would've come up had I done some deeper digging on the last fellow I shot, but I was in a hurry to finish the job before the police arrived. I did know some of the Tecate-Mexicali cartels would do that face-carving bullshit so their victims' families couldn't give them an open casket burial. It was that, or something to do with terrorizing them. I'll need to look into the that with Tseng later.
    
      "You my friend, will be their new target if this ever surfaces," Waters slid a photo on the table.
    
      Shit, I cursed inwardly. It was a still shot of a bank security camera showing me firing the gun at the last thug on the desk. My face was clearly showing in profile and in the front. I looked at the picture with a wooden expression.
    
      If it ever surfaces, I'd be in trouble. My mood grew dark. That's _if_ the picture surfaces.
    
      Shit, I brooded silently. Tseng probably won't care, but Cox was likely going to flip if I needed to silence a cop.
    
      "So, unless you want to cooperate," Waters droned on, "You'll be on your own."
    
      "That's not something to joke about detective," a deep baritone sang out. We both looked up and saw a burly man in a dark suit enter the room, along with another older man and a slim woman holding a briefcase.
    
      "Captain?" Waters stood up, "What's with the suits?"
    
      "Cut the crap Waters," the older man said. "This man, uh--?"
    
      "Champion," Cox said and gave me dour look, "Nicholas Champion."
    
      "Right. He's a United States Marshal," the precinct captain said. "Mr. Chen here is a deep cover agent building a cover as a draftsman. Something to do with --?"
    
      "Illegal contracting with migrant workers," Cox said. "Some who may be involved with Central or South American drug cartels."
    
      I sensed Cox was lying. I bet he knew I knew too.
    
      "We're working with Immigration as well as the D.E.A.," the big agent gestured airily. "We'd like the case and any charges you are planning to press to be dropped so we can continue the operation."
    
      "But--?" Waters mouth dropped.
    
      "We'll take that," Cox scooped up the photograph. "The bank is cooperating as well. The security tapes in regards to the incident are being scrubbed as we speak."
    
      "That's evidence!" the detective protested uselessly.
    
      "I'm with the city attorney's office," the slim woman with the briefcase shot back. "You can make the arrest detective, but my office won't prosecute."
    
      So that was that. A nice ride back to downtown and I thought I was finished, but Cox apparently had other plans.
    
      "Thanks," I said.
    
      "Don't think it was a favor," Cox said gruffly, "We need you again. Otherwise, we would've let them throw the book at you."
    
      "Gee," I scratched my cheek. "I take that back then. You guys are assholes anyway."
    
      "I thought we agreed to keep this crap under wraps," Cox was next to me in the back seat of the big sedan.
    
      "I was defending myself. If you had been there, you'd do the same."
    
      "If I'd been there," the big man lectured, "I'd have done exactly as they said. There were innocents in there."
    
      "Okay." I didn't want to argue. Just because he couldn't stop bullets with his mind, didn't mean I couldn't. Fuckin' 'normal'.
    
      "You might think we're like that other agency," Cox said, "The one called that starts with a 'C' and ends with 'A'; 'Christians In Action'. Let me tell you right now, we're not. You're not. You, like us, are interested only in surveillance. Look but don't touch. Understand?"
    
      "All right Brian," I called him by his first name just to mix things up. "Jesus. Give it a rest."
    
      "Those cowboy operations you and Tseng go on?" Cox ignored me and continued his lecture. "Those we track sonny. Don't think we'll forget about them if we need to compromise your ass to renew NAFTA."
    
      "Is that a threat?" I eyed him unkindly.
    
      "No, it's not a threat," he said, but I knew he was lying. Perhaps he knew I would read him and know that he was and he was answering just the way I'd expected him to as if he didn't know. Damn, this was getting heady and confusing.
    
      "But consider this," Cox went on. "Like that shit-headed detective said, if the cartels knew you and Tseng did all those jobs back then, do you think they'd let you live?"
    
      I shrugged, because I honestly didn't know. Perhaps more importantly, I didn't care. For me and Tseng, the cartels were targets to be taken down, their possessions to be taken, and if they raised any opposition, they were to be crushed.
    
      "Tseng probably has a plan," Cox admitted, "But unless you guys can predict the future, which you can't, since we've not seen you pull any lottery stunts yet, there's no telling what will happen with those gangs. They're animals mister. Feral animals."
    
      "Well, thanks for the advice," I said, "I'll think about it. Honest."
    
      "Well you can do that while you're on the plane," Cox said.
    
      "Er, what?" I blinked. I was so distracted by the sudden change of my schedule that I didn't see that coming.
    
      "We're heading for the airport; like I said, we need you."
    
      "You mean like right the hell now?" I was annoyed. "You couldn't give me a few hours notice?"
    
      "Consider this a favor," Cox growled. "We think Ghost Light's gone rogue."
    
      "The hell did you just say?"
    
      I danced through Cox's mind and knew he was telling the truth; or at least he thought he was. David Reese, ex-asset, was now considered a serious liability and a possible danger to the country. My mind reeled from the accusation.
    
      "You read my mind didn't you?" Cox looked at me accusingly.
    
      "Only because you're pouring it out," I grew apprehensive but faked a migraine. "My head hurts."
    
      "Interesting," the big man sounded smug. "Well, it doesn't hurt for you to know."
    
      "I guess not," I looked at him evenly. "So, you think David's gone rogue? How?"
    
      "I'll brief you enroute."
    
      "What about Tseng?" I asked.
    
      The brawny agent knitted his brow, "He'll meet us at Sherwood."
    
      "And where's that?" I glanced at him.
    
      "Upstate New York," Cox replied.
    
      That might work out, I thought. Maybe I could see Viktoriya afterwards.
    
      "In the meantime," he went on, "We took care of your work thing."
    
      "Uh, how?" I asked and realized that the only things I had brought with me were my mobile phone, my house keys, wallet (and identification), and whatever money I had.
    
      "Bethany will cover for you," Cox leveled me a grin I couldn't imagine him wearing.
    
      "Who the hell is Bethany?" I asked. I'd never known Cox to use first names with anyone; not even me.
    
      "She'll handle work for you."
    
      "Is she a draftsman?" I asked.
    
      "No. I don't think so."
    
      "Uh, people use our drawings to build things," I pointed out. "Things built wrong get people killed. Then they get me fired. If I get fired, I might find some more work down Mexico way."
    
      "Okay, fine," Cox dialed his phone. "This is Champion. Make sure Masquerade --" Bethany's code-name "-- has ..."
    
      The burly agent looked at me and I shouted into the mouth-piece, "Architectural, structural, and construction drafting and modeling. I have the specs on my machine."
    
      "You got that?" Cox rolled his eyes. "Good. Won't be long I hope."
    
      Better not be you asshole, I thought.
    
      "It's done." He shut off his cell phone and settled in for the ride.
    
      "It better be," I muttered as the car accelerated southbound towards the Peninsula airport.
    
    ===============================================================================
      MONUMENTAL MISSION -- BRIEFING
    ===============================================================================
    
      As it turned out, David Reese (referred to as Ghost Light) wasn't rogue. It was all a big case of misunderstanding and mistaken identity. But first, let me relate to you some sordid history.
    
      This case dated back to 1989, before Tseng and Cox made one another's acquaintance (it wasn't mutual). In October of that year, two big incidents had occurred in the same town of Sherwood, New York: a deadly school fire where more than three score students and teachers were burned alive, and an unsolved explosion at the local DOW chemical plant that killed and injured nearly 100 workers.
    
      Tseng and another agent were was sent to investigate. In addition to being Tseng's liaison, the agent was also there to monitor the new "asset". Once Tseng got there, the spree of accidents and break-ins virtually disappeared or were subdued (my mentor's case notes are not clear on this; he merely mentions the reduction in 'unexplainable incidents').
    
      After three days of investigation, Tseng determined there was nothing more to the case and left. The unnamed agent was left holding the bag. There was a witness though, who claimed to have seen a teenager vanish into thin air just outside the chemical plant before the explosion. Nonetheless, the disturbances in Sherwood had become nil, so the agent reported back and was duly assigned to be Tseng's "official" unofficial liaison.
    
      Until David disappeared on global television during the hostage crises in Greece (I was too into Rachelle at the time to notice), the agency didn't have much to do with Tseng. Most of the time, he was off their grid, and escaped their notice. The agency's attempts to "handle" David were clumsy, resulting in some humorous (if expensive) accidents. After Cox was returned by David to the agency, Tseng's liaison thought it was ripe enough time to "use a freak to catch a freak".
    
      Since Tseng's liaison saw what David could do, he thought it was David who had been the Sherwood perpetrator. To the untrained eye, David's gift for displacement did make him vanish into thin air. That plus the fact that Tseng had acted as if he knew what to expect, gave the liaison his suspicions. It was around this time that Tseng amputated David's foot.
    
      Once David learned (from Cox) who had set the snare for him, one of the conditions he demanded to continue with the NSA was to have that agent confined to a desk job. Cox handled it as best he could. The agency was clearly not going to let Tseng depart, so they shuffled Tseng's liaison elsewhere and Cox became the new liaison officer. But that wasn't all of it. Before he left for his new posting, the liaison added notes detailing the 1989 Sherwood incident to Ghost Light's file that would come back and bite David on the ass.
    
      It was these same notes that lead Cox to believe that David was up to no good. So, a new trap (a more gentle one) was set. This time, it wasn't to detain David, but to determine the truth. As soon as David appeared with a _POP_ I concentrated and cleared his ungrateful ass of criminal activity. Of course, David hit the roof when Tseng restrained him. It took some harsh reasoning, and some clever persuasion on part from me and Cox to keep Ghost Light from displacing a micro-nuke (or the President) to some place where it (or he) needn't be.
    
      Okay. Got all that? Good. Now let's rewind a little back to 1989 again. As it turned out, Tseng left Sherwood once he found out the source of the unexplainable incidents. He had contacted a woman named Susan Roget through her publisher friend (Meredith Martin). A series of fictional novels authored by the woman's late relative had piqued his interest.
    
      Over the course of several days and interviews (I'm sure he fucked her rotten) Tseng concluded from Susan's story about her cousin (and famous author) Paul that there was something amiss; another phenomenon that was responsible for the Sherwood incident. He wasn't sure how to put it once things were down on the level and the incident was closed by the agency, so he kept checking back. Every so often, he'd drop in on Sherwood and the surrounding areas for suspicious activity. Susan Roget would occasionally do the same.
    
      So when something strange finally _did_ occur on the second March 2000, Susan contacted Tseng, who then immediately got Cox and the agency on the horn. Of course, with Ghost Light's notes, Cox thought David had gone nuts (which, to someone at the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Group, didn't fit any known sane profile, and David was quite sane).
    
      All that of course, lead to me being tapped on the shoulder in San Francisco on Monday, which all lead to the four of us (and some supporting agents who weren't privy to the meeting) sitting in conference at a bed and breakfast at the edge of Sherwood. It was the largest room we could find on such short notice.
    
      "So you're saying it's an invisible man?" David was incredulous, "How the hell are we supposed to find an invisible man?"
    
      "Several ways," Cox counted off on his hand. "One: thermographic and low-light technology has come a long way since 1989. Unless this unknown talent is a zombie or ecto-thermic, he'll show up."
    
      "Unless of course," Tseng corrected, "The talent has learned to be invisible to the infrared bands as well."
    
      "That assumes the worst," Cox said. "Two: if the unknown talent isn't a zombie or lacks a brain, Talisman and Snake Charmer can find him."
    
      "Hopefully," I added, "I can't find squat if I don't know someone's there."
    
      "I'm sure he, or she ..."
    
      "It will be a 'he'," Tseng interrupted Cox. "Read my interviews with Susan."
    
      "You're sure of that because you were so fucking charming with women?" David said with a snarl.
    
      "Woke up on the wrong side of the desert sun didn't you?" Tseng's voice was verging on dangerous.
    
      I suspected he was hinting (strongly) at the possibility of revealing David's desert residence in West Texas. His wife Millie's Stillwater address was the "official" address where the couple received their mail (and pornography). David was positively livid as he glared between me and Tseng.
    
      "Guys enough of this shit," I said sternly. "I want to get this crap over with so I can get back to a day job while I still have one, all right?"
    
      "Fine." David vanished with a _POP_.
    
      "Damn it," Cox turned to Tseng, "You were supposed to safely hold him so we can finish briefing him."
    
      "If I did as you asked," the old Chinese said coldly, "You'd have found him in another hospital."
    
      "Goddammit Tseng," Cox was exasperated.
    
      "He just went to get a soda," I said. "He'll back."
    
      David reappeared in the same spot with a _POP_ and a can of Dr. Pepper in hand.
    
      "See? Told you so." I jerked a thumb at him. "Although it'd have been nice of him to get one for everyone."
    
      "Buy your own goddamn soft-drinks," David popped the tab, "I'm not Mr. Moneybags."
    
      "Of course you're not," I said and glanced at Cox to continue.
    
      "Moving on," the big agent frowned, "Method one has Ghost Light supporting the assets we already have on the ground. You can cover a lot more ground, and you'll also be in contact with all my men. They see something unusual or you do, get on the horn and you get our men there to find him."
    
      "So what are we here for?" I asked, "If you're just going to beat about the bush."
    
      "Ah, there's the beauty of the plan," Cox rubbed his hands together. "Let's assume this guy is invisible. Technically, he can be anywhere but we may not even notice; even with thermals on, we may not be able to tell one silhouette from another unless we compare what we see through the scopes with our own eyes."
    
      "Go on." I was getting impatient.
    
      "So, lets say this talent wises up," Cox continued, "And he sees suspicious people using special gear in town."
    
      "He'd skip town."
    
      "A likely scenario, Snake Charmer," Tseng nodded, "And it could explain why the incidents slowed, and then finally stopped back in '89."
    
      "Sounds like we're dealing with a vagrant," David had settled down a bit, and joined the discussion. "Maybe he finally wandered home."
    
      "That's possible," my mentor begrudgingly acknowledged the other man. "Snake Charmer and I will have to ascertain that."
    
      Tseng emphasized "ascertain" and both David and I grimaced slightly for different reasons. David had just been "ascertained" as to not be a threat by me. I on the other hand, needed to learn some self-control to defuse dangerous internal security situations without racking up a body count.
    
      "So what happened again?" David turned to Cox. I sensed, he'd do almost anything to avoid talking to Tseng.
    
      "It wasn't a chemical plant this time," the burly agent pointed on a map spread on the wall. "This time it was a rented house."
    
      "A women's sorority," Tseng added. "Wells College is a few miles west-south-west of Sherwood. I believe this guy wants to sow some oats as it were."
    
      "Jesus." I shut my mind to the scene. And to think Shawn would be alone in Japan. Viktoriya was too (in Brooklyn) but I trusted she could take care of herself.
    
      'Think again Stanley; Viktoriya wouldn't be able to do anything if she was unconscious. Listen to the rest of the report.' Tseng thought-spoke to me as Cox continued.
    
      "The evidence was that four of the six girls showed visible signs of pregnancy all within a week," the burly agent took up the briefing. "The other two committed suicide before tests were conclusive, but the autopsies showed they were also pregnant."
    
      The matter-of-fact delivery struck a chill in me. If it had been any of my girls, I would've told him to shut it. Still, I swallowed and thought lovingly of my darlings, we needed information. And it wasn't like I hadn't done great things before on the US-Mex border. The only difference though, was that I rarely hassled women or young children.
    
      I chanced a glance at David; he looked sick. His hand was gripping his soda can so tightly, he nearly squished the contents out over the top. Agent Cox only permitted himself to show mild discomfort as he briefed us, but I sensed he felt a mix of outrage and discomfort. Only Tseng, in his impenetrable mental mask, wore an equally impassive expression and displayed not a whit of empathy.
    
      "The newspaper made light of this unusual story but it was only local," Cox droned on. "The story from the sorority members are similar: they drank from the same water tap, and they felt pretty sleepy once they got to bed. It happened over the span of three weeks until they started feeling morning sickness."
    
      "Wait-a-minute. They felt sleepy?" David contended, "You mean they were hypnotized?"
    
      "Nothing like that," Cox shook his head. "Autopsy of the two suicides showed trace amounts of a very pure mixture of GHB and GBL; gamma hydroxbutyric acid and gamma butyrolactone."
    
      I scratched my head and hazarded a guess. "Sleeping pills?"
    
      "One of a few date-rape drugs," David said stiffly. "Millie's had to deal with a few victims who were tricked into ingesting that crap."
    
      "So the guy drugged their whole house?" I pressed, "How'd you know it was one guy anyway?"
    
      "Aside from the tests? One of the girls was a senior," Cox explained, "Had a security camera set-up to catch the other girls coming into her room to make sure they weren't stealing from her. Tseng pulled some interesting footage."
    
      He rifled through a few folders on his laptop and pulled up a video. It showed a time elapsed snapshot of the girl's room. Around forty or fifty seconds in, the door seemed to open ajar. Something, a fuzz of light or a nimbus, seemed to have entered the room. It was like watching a ghost come into the room. The video stopped short as the ghostly figure began moving towards the girl at the bottom edge.
    
      "So, the theory," I tried to get my mind around all this, "is that this guy rigs the house so the girls nod off then he rapes them?"
    
      "On the ball Snake Charmer," Tseng said.
    
      "Gentlemen," Cox opened a metal trunk on the bed; it was tightly packed with various high-tech gear. "Let's get to work."
    
    ===============================================================================
      MONUMENTAL MISSION -- TASKING
    ===============================================================================
    
      Sherwood was a depressing place. It was rural, bug infested, empty, and worse of all, chilly, although not snowbound. The snow-melt had started and I was just getting used to my new shoes. Since I had brought along nearly nothing, I went into a local mall (basically a depressing grouping of stores on main street) and outfitted myself like a New England gent.
    
      I had taken off so suddenly, my parents and the girls would no doubt be worried sick, especially Janet. She was supposed to stay only a weekend, but the incident at the bank persuaded her to stay with me (drawing Melanie's ire in the process) for at least a couple days more. So, I made my call quickly from a small pay phone booth (one of the few still around in 2000). I didn't use the payphone, but my mobile phone. The booth was to keep my call private, in case that invisible asshole was around to eavesdrop.
    
      The first was to my parents, not that they needed to know anything apart from that I wouldn't be having supper with them for a few days. The second was to Janet, and it pretty much killed the rest of my phone's battery. She was concerned at first, and then she suspicious when Melanie and Shawn didn't know that I was out of town. She would most likely call Viktoriya next, so I needed a cover story. I couldn't call out anymore, but I had other ways to communicate.
    
      'Vika? Sweetheart?' I thought-spoke. 'Have a minute?'
    
      'A minute Stanislav. But no more.' Viktoriya pinged back. Her mind-sight cleared up and showed her sitting in a make-up chair before a dressing mirror. Her hair was wound into a tight bun, her face heavily painted, and a towel was draped over her shoulders, covering her bare teats.
    
      'Listen, I need you to lie to Janet.' I thought. 'Tell her I'm indisposed and with you in New York.'
    
      'Tell her yourself.' Viktoriya bunched her brow. 'Wait. Where are you?'
    
      'New York.' I saw Viktoriya brighten and sit up immediately in her reflection. 'It's not a social call sweetie. I'm on business near Rochester.'
    
      'That is near the border.' My dusky Russkie was confused. 'Stanislav, what's going on?'
    
      'Trust me Vika.' I gave a little mental sigh. 'I promise I'll explain to you later. Just make sure Jan doesn't go off half-cocked and file a missing persons report.'
    
      'Are you in trouble?' Viktoriya's mind went into overdrive. 'Or are you screwing around on us already?'
    
      'No, nothing like that.' That much was at least true. 'Look, I'll get you something nice before I go back to San Francisco. Just be sure to say I'm in the tub, or shower, or sleeping, or out when Jan calls. Got it?'
    
      'Whatever it is, you come back safely, kisa.' From her reflection, Viktoriya had a worried look on her face. 'Or I won't forgive you.'
    
      'I'll haunt you from the grave if I don't, babushka.' I joked, but she threw back a mean little mental hiss.
    
      'Don't joke about that, Stanislav!' Viktoriya scowled angrily at me in the mirror and tuned me out.
    
      Well, at least she's still got pep, I thought and stepped out of the phone booth. I walked down the street, the small, narrow store fronts to my right. As I wandered the nearly empty streets, I could get a sense of the quaint decay in the area. Like the life was being sucked right out of the place.
    
      Shit, I wanted to laugh. No wonder that guy tried to blow the place up years ago.
    
      The town's gloom only deepened the more I walked around; I wanted to finish my task so I could leave as quickly as possible. Apart from Cox's plan to "stay alert" and Tseng's suggestion to "take a look around", I hadn't been given much more instructions apart from finding the Invisible Man and making a grab. That's when I headed to the clothing store, bought some clothing and then went and ate a late dinner at a diner. Afterwards I decided to have a look around the town.
    
      "Yo Snake Charmer," a familiar voice rasped.
    
      "Hey Ghost Light." I turned and found the thin man coming out of a narrow alley, "Any luck?"
    
      "Nope," he held up his thermal goggles, "I have a better pair, but since the agency insisted on giving me these, I'm going to wrap it and give it to Millie for our anniversary."
    
      "You sure you want to do that?" I wanted to play on his paranoia, "Could be chipped and tracked."
    
      David looked thoughtful. "You're right. And that's two for two. I owe you."
    
      "What?" I asked as we continued down the street.
    
      "What you said about Millie last time," he sighed, "You're right. I got trust issues. Didn't trust my dad after my mom left. Didn't trust you, but worse of all, I didn't trust Millie."
    
      "Uh huh," I wasn't the least bit interested, but feigned attention. "Right."
    
      "She's my wife goddammit," David was frustrated mentally and physically, "And I had the nerve to spy on her. She wasn't happy about it."
    
      "How'd she find out?" I disgorged an autonomous response. I needed to stay alert for any mental presences or thoughts that someone unseen was around.
    
      "I told her," he laughed bitterly and hastily added, "Yeah, yeah, and you'd tell me that I was stupid; you read my mind."
    
      He was over-estimating my abilities, which was could be a good thing, or a bad thing. Over-estimating sometimes lead to instances of overkill by those who gave the other side the benefit of the doubt. David rattled on as if I was his goddamned shrink.
    
      "Look man, I'm sorry I went back to your place," he confessed, "But it reminded me of my home."
    
      "Which one?" I asked, "Your desert house, your wife's in Stillwater, or some other places you bought with that robbery money?"
    
      "My old home," David said, "With my mom and dad. It was like the Twilight Zone when I went into your kitchen. If it means anything, I didn't go back, but you know that right?"
    
      I didn't say anything but I knew he was telling the truth. But bad enough that he trespassed into my house. Like Tseng said, this asshole didn't set any limits on physical privacy.
    
      "Ahem," he coughed nervously, "And well, I appreciate it that you haven't said anything. About the Chemical Bank thing."
    
      "I don't need to," I toyed with his paranoia some more, "Talisman knows too. If he wanted to spill it to the boss, I'm sure he would've."
    
      "Sounds like blackmail," David said dourly. "You sure went to a lot of trouble clearing me. Why?"
    
      "I don't know," I said nonchalantly. "It was orders. Don't take it personally."
    
      "I won't," he said, "But I'm grateful. I'm tired of running."
    
      "Maybe you should emigrate," I suggested, "I mean it's obvious you don't really like this country."
    
      "And have Millie leave her family and friends?" he complained, "She'd kill me."
    
      "Like you can't just zap back in an eyeblink," I snapped.
    
      He was about to respond when I felt something on the fringe of my presence. David stopped when I held up my hand. It was the weirdest feeling. It was a presence, but at the same time, there was a lot of pain mixed in with the pleasure. It certainly didn't feel like anything I sensed before. I grabbed David gently by the arm and pointed the opposite direction.
    
      "There?" David asked.
    
      "Yes," I said and then quickly switched to thought-speak: 'He's behind us. Could be spying on us. Displace to the church I'm pointing at. I want him to see you do it. Maybe get a reaction so I can narrow him down. Keep an eye on things in case there's trouble you think I don't know about.'
    
      "Go," I said audibly, "And contact Champion."
    
      If David was impressed by how fast I conveyed my instructions, he didn't show it. He stepped back, saluted deliberately and visibly. Then he suddenly displaced with a _POP_. Instantly, a torrent of thoughts came through: 'Holy shit!' 'He just vanished like me!' 'They're looking for me.' 'Have to stay clear.' 'Got to stay quiet.'
    
      You're a dead man, I thought as I walked towards the direction of the mental blip. I wondered if I would be able to contain myself if I found the target. Mischief resulting in property damage was one thing, but rape. That was something else entirely. I shuddered, for I had come close to doing that myself.
    
      While I became intimate with all of my girls, I had one minor regret: that being Rachelle. I accidentally mind-blasted the pretty mulatto, and then more or less had my way with her physically. Deep down, I knew it was wrong but I worked hard to make amends. I treated her respectfully and graciously while we dated. But as I dwelled on the thought, I grew uneasy; perhaps I did do something to irreversibly scar her. Maybe that's why she was so complacent in some matters. Nonetheless, Rachelle was irrelevant right now. Instead, I focused on the task at hand.
    
      'Talisman this is Snake Charmer.' I thought-spoke. 'Making way to my position on corner of Main Street and Abernathy Way.'
    
      'Understood.' And that was it. I was likely on my own.
    
      I walked down the street slowly, my mind trying to feel out the people around me. It was weird. The blip with the mix of elation and fear had subsided. Now, only 'normal' thoughts were around. I couldn't quite locate the psychic disturbance I sensed before, but I there was definitely someone around.
    
      All this time, David had moved from the church. He was now shadowing me on the rooftops, using his displacement to move from one spot to another. Although I never heard him displace with audible cue, the _POP_ that came with his sudden reappearance was chiefly his mental presence brimming suddenly in my mind due to his physical proximity.
    
      Tseng, I could barely feel. He felt close, but I wasn't all too sure. Suddenly, there were one -- Wait, two -- No wait, three? They all seemed to be normal presences. I spun around and nearly got caught by a blow to the head. Luckily, I had been keeping up with my "repelling force" exercises and I focused my gift in that manner. It probably saved my life (thank you Viktoriya!). The bat went towards my head but my mind was able to push it up towards the sky as it closed in.
    
      "The fuck --!?" a voice came from nowhere.
    
      I looked around and saw (with my own eyes) nothing. Nothing save a wooden baseball bat hovering in mid-air. At first, I thought it was Tseng or Viktoriya playing a trick on me (Viktoriya had some explaining to do if she did!), but the bat was held in an all too-natural angle, and the stick swayed in an all too-humanistic fashion to be telekinetically controlled. Besides, why would a psychokineticist spend effort to twirl a bat when all he or she needed to do was drive it straight (any angle will do) right into my face?
    
      "Hit him again Patch!" Again the same voice from nowhere.
    
      A different voice, a more feminine one cried out, "No! Let's just get outta here!"
    
      I shifted my focus. I didn't want to see the bat, although it was a dangerous tool. I needed to see what was around me. As the bat swung again, I heard a yell of surprise; David had displaced himself and brought a sturdy lead pipe down on the offending weapon, cracking it in the middle and saving me the trouble of shoving it up someone's ass. The bat quickly went limp, as if someone had let go of it.
    
      Ghost Light's surprise appearance was enough to startle our mysterious guests and allow me to fix their locations. Two of them, whoever or whatever the hell they were, were near me and David. One more was standing a little off so he wouldn't be hit in the melee.
    
      It made a sort of sense, I thought. If you can't see your body or others around you, then it'd be wise to step away. I suddenly realized that I was picking up a mixed jumble of thoughts from not one, but three invisible assailants. David and I needed help, like right the fuck now.
    
      'Three people.' My mind chattered. 'Talisman, do you read?'
    
      "Champion," I clicked my throat mike, "We have three contacts. All invisible. Gimme back-up or you'll have three corpses."
    
      Hearing their situation reported seemed to throw the three invisible people into a panic.
    
      "You ain't gonna find us." The first voice snarled. "Scram!"
    
      I heard a patter of footsteps followed by more determined footsteps. Tseng and a few dark suited men wearing thermal goggles were running towards us. It didn't matter though. By the time they got to securing the area, the invisible people had escaped.
    
    ===============================================================================
      MONUMENTAL MISSION -- RE-TASKING
    ===============================================================================
    
      "Why didn't you call for back-up?" Cox fumed. "It took Talisman a minute to get us on the horn."
    
      "I was under surveillance," I said simply. "I thought David was going to tell you."
    
      "I was going to," David jumped in, "When I was shadowing Stanley on the roof. Then, I saw the bat and I knew he was in trouble."
    
      "Did it look like he needed help?" Tseng spoke up.
    
      "No one asked you," the thin displacer snapped.
    
      "Hold on now," Cox looked at me, "Did you ask for help?"
    
      "Well kinda," I said. "I told him to keep an eye out for trouble. But that was it." I was sure I would've been able to repel anything I could see away from me.
    
      "See? I told you," David folded his arms, satisfied. "It was three against one. I just evened up the odds."
    
      "We lost the element of surprise," Tseng registered distaste.
    
      "Look," Cox held up a hand, "I know you don't like working for us, David. That's fine. But Stanley has undergone some training at FLETC (Federal Law Enforcement Training Center); I'm sure he could've taken care of himself. All you needed to do was report in."
    
      FLETC my ass, I thought dourly. I only spent maybe three days tops at some lecture courses, like the hostage rescue class. All the rest of my "training" was on the border. Since Cox already knew about my excursions, I said nothing and kept my mouth shut. He could lie to David all he wanted. It took some convincing for David not to teleport back home. I could hardly blame him. He really didn't need to be there, but because he was the fastest method of transport, he was asked to remain available. In any case, David didn't need to get his hands dirty. Tseng and I were doing the real footwork.
    
      By now, it was nearly 4 A.M. Eastern Standard Time and we were all running on fumes. The only reason I was this active was because I was used to staying up late for studio and sleeping odd hours; that plus I was on West Coast time, so it was only 1 A.M. for me. Still, I was feeling like man twice my age as I mutely stirred a cup of black tea.
    
      The crap from a teabag tasted awful. How I missed Yu-Ching's hand-brewed teas, her delicate fingers holding the porcelain kettle, her soft brown eyes full of mirth and mischief. Shit. I was getting horny thinking about that tight, legal, eighteen-year old ass of hers.
    
      "Stanley? Snake Charmer!"
    
      I nearly spilled my tea as Cox snapped his fingers before me.
    
      "Uh, sorry," I mumbled. "Must've dozed off."
    
      "For a good minute," he said, "Were you able to pull anything from them when they escaped? Thoughts about where they were going?"
    
      "I have nothing," Tseng said as I peered at him.
    
      "And you?" Cox looked at me.
    
      "No," I said, "Not really."
    
      The burly agent never appeared more disappointed than when he threw his hands in the air. We were pretty much lost. Well maybe not. I sat and recalled a little of the encounter. At the moment the old gravelly voice said "Scram!" some visual memories popped up. Farms and picaresque farmland near an expanse of water. Well, not exactly. It looked like a waterway of some sort. There was a sign, a blurry one. I could barely make it out if I focused a little more ...
    
      "Where's Saint Anicet?" I suddenly asked.
    
      "That's in Canada," Cox looked at me curiously, "In Quebec, near Salaberry-del-Valleyfield."
    
      "Hmm," Tseng thumbed through some files, "Ah here it is. Susan said her grandfather's grandfather was from around there. The Rogets are French-Canadian. Very rural area."
    
      "The Rogets?" David asked, "We're tracking down a family of invisible people?"
    
      "It's all explained here," Tseng held up a paperback bearing the title: "Monument Of New England" authored by Susan Roget.
    
      Cox whispered to one of his men as David asked, "Wait, are these the same guys whose name is on that thesaurus?"
    
      Funny. I grinned like an idiot and felt like laughing. Holy fuck. I _was_ tired.
    
      "So what next?" I asked numbly. I wanted to sleep.
    
      "Isn't it obvious?" Tseng said, "They're headed for the border."
    
      "We have to beat them before they cross into Canada," Cox said with finality. "We leave now."
    
    ===============================================================================
      MONUMENTAL MISSION -- CONFLICT AND RESOLUTION
    ===============================================================================
    
      David displaced from the room for a while then later returned before we left. As I predicted, he pretty much as was able to commute back and forth as he needed. I assumed that if we had emailed him a picture of our next destination, he could've met us there. But we were all clearly on the breaking point. I had been up for nearly 20 straight hours and I was feeling less than stellar. No wonder I was so sluggish when the three invisibles jumped me. My mind felt like molasses.
    
      Our choppers came from Birmingham, along with thermal and low-light detection gear. The craft were not designed to catch the three invisibles, but rather to herd them. Pinning them against Cayuga Lake on the west, the choppers were to funnel them into a more manageable search area for me and Tseng to tackle. It was also to drive home the point that those invisible fugitives were now the hunted.
    
      Listen, look, but don't touch was the motto of the NSA. However, because Tseng, David, and I were on board as "specialists" to track the invisible runners, exceptions had to be made. An actual U.S. marshal appeared and swore my ass in as a "special deputy" of the United States Marshal service, "effective immediately and to be rescinded upon sun-down the next day" before I climbed aboard my ride.
    
      I certainly hoped that would be all the time I needed. I just wanted to go home, take a hot shower, and then head straight to bed. Still, my weariness was the least of my worries once the choppers neared Seward's Mansion. My mental switchboard lit up in the presence of the three targets near there. Tseng and I consulted over the wireless with Champion and confirmed that we had three pings.
    
      They were definitely fleeing from the choppers, so it lent a little more credence that the presences were what we were looking for. Two of them were pinned against our group moving north and the New York State Thruway. A third was making way east to the Onondaga Indian Reservation.
    
      "Plan of action," Champion radioed in. "Talisman take the two near the thruway; Snake Charmer, grab the one going east. Ghost Light will channel communications through Champion HQ and provide transportation support as required. Less than lethal now. We want to detain, not destroy."
    
      Whether that was meant for me, Tseng, or all of us, I didn't know. We were unarmed saved for our gifts, although each of our choppers was accompanied by a second chopper with marksmen armed with compressed rifles and tranquilizers. Our armed escorts would not fly low for fear of being attacked by an invisible assailant; they can however, cover us decently from the air. Cox was coordinating from a temporary base in Auburn and I was assaulted with radio chatter in my ear and crazed thoughts of the invisibles in my mind.
    
      "Roger that." I clicked my throat mike. I was riding in an east-bound chopper towards the Indian Reservation. It was planned that I drop off early and intercept the fleeing talent. Over the drone of the craft's engine, I heard other conversations in my ear piece.
    
      "Got it." David wasn't going to play with fire and displace whilst in a moving vehicle. He tried that once and it nearly got him killed. He was following me several hundred feet back in another chopper. He needed to see where I was going so he could displace there. I assumed Tseng likely didn't need any back-up, but David should be able to blink himself to his position in a few minutes.
    
      "Understood." Tseng was about twelve miles west of me. His plan of action was to confront the two blips against the thru-way and see how'd they react.
    
      Capture, not kill, was the directive. Oh well. Can't say I didn't try. We followed the blip I focused on. My quarry was the girl who had uttered restraint when I was beset by her accomplices. I sensed she was traveling as fast as a vehicle could carry her. My chopper easily outpaced her ride. I relayed audible instructions to my pilot.
    
      "Pick a place and head off that red truck!" I yelled.
    
      "Got it," the pilot crackled back.
    
      It was past 7 A.M. Eastern Time and highway east 20 was starting to see a little more traffic. I'd been operating for over 24 hours. I was verging on mental collapse, I knew. Get her or lose her. That, or the truck she was in would speed up, and she'd kill someone.
    
      "Force the bitch off the road," I rasped over the mike, "I'll get off and grab her."
    
      The pilot didn't answer but I knew he understood when the craft dived and dipped towards the road. My stomach lurched; thankfully, I had nothing to eat so I didn't feel nausea. The chopper's skids bared themselves dangerously low to the target pick-up truck, but it was the ample wash from the rotor and constant thumping of the rotors that caused the driver to swerve off the road. The red truck skidded off the road and into the surrounding slush-covered brush. I quickly clicked on David's channel.
    
      "Going down Ghost Light," I stood near the doorway, my hands ready to unclick my safety harness, "She can't go far. Head back and help Talisman with the other two."
    
      "Roger that," David sounded unhappy, but he acknowledged my request.
    
      I sensed the usual _POP_ and knew he had displaced himself back a ways to leave this end of the chase to me for a little bit. The marksman assigned to cover me could only talk to Cox back at HQ. How Cox could monitor our activities and keep control of the situation that changed so quickly was beyond me. Almost immediately, I reacted almost autonomously; which was exactly as how Tseng and I worked on the Mexican border. Now I appreciated those excursions to Mexico.
    
      Shit. I was being trained and didn't even know it. Still, no time for that now. My chopper dove steeply and hovered a few feet above the ground, I knew the pilot wouldn't risk landing in the knee high grass. A stray boulder could tip the whole thing and cause a deadly crash. I unbuckled my restraining harness and jumped from the deck.
    
      Telekinetics allowed me to land, cat-like, on my own two feet. I didn't care if the pilots or anyone else saw me. I was in a way, glad to be after the target. Through a low-light lens, my squarish silhouette should be a definite contrast to the curved, bosomy shadow of a girl. Even if I was caught by friendly-fire, tranquilizers were much easier for me than real bullets, unless they were loaded with poison.
    
      I cursed inwardly as I approached the truck. My chopper took off and veered away, buzzing around me along with the escort (sniper) chopper like constant shadows. I saw nothing as I neared it. The driver's door was open, but no one had been seen getting out.
    
      Of course not, I thought. She's invisible. And if they couldn't see her ...
    
      I caught the presence at the last possible second. I whirled and caught the branch across my forearms. Despite putting up my "repelling force", the blow (and the presence) came out so last second I barely worked up a defence. My arms felt a little numb as I rolled over the ground. The heavy branch that hit me was now on the ground. I felt nothing of the presence save that it was receding.
    
      She's fleeing. I gritted my teeth, stood up and gave chase. The runner might've been invisible, but she could only mask so much of herself. I had my target in mental range and began to zone in on her. I picked myself up and "TK-skated" after my quarry. She was running -- running scared.
    
      Silly little bitch, I thought. Then I remembered what had happened at the sorority house and I hardened my heart. Viktoriya had taught me women could sometimes be as crude and vicious as men when it came to other women.
    
      I flew past some ramshackle sheds, dirty snow piled against their sides. Even with her invisibility, I was able to follow through the panic I sensed. The choppers' detection equipment were becoming useless as the sun rose. It was very hard to track shoeprints through snowmelt once the sun began to warm things up. I was on point and the choppers had to follow.
    
      "This is Talisman," I heard Tseng's tinny voice crackle over my earbud, "Targets are attempting to stop passing motorists and steal their vehicles while maintaining natural camouflage..."
    
      Good God, I thought. Invisible car-jackers on a state Thruway? We'll make the news tonight!
    
      "... Talisman intercepting with allotted force."
    
      Allotted force my ass, I thought. Knowing Tseng's personal motives, he was going to exterminate if necessary. Keep the empire hidden. Keep all this under wraps. The dead told no tales. David was lucky; he only lost a foot. I suspected those two see-through toughs at the highway were not likely going to be captured alive, despite Cox's orders or their best efforts at escaping.
    
      So what now? Save her! Get to the invisible girl. Get to her before Tseng does and rips her a fourth hole. But how? She's scared and she's running. I had passed several fields of corn or wheat by now. Assuming that invisibility was all she had, she was covering ground at a good clip. Maybe she had another gifts as well? I popped out of a field and saw a barn in the distance.
    
      'I'll hide there.' I caught wind of her thoughts. 'Hide until dark.' 'Get back together with Patch.' 'Tell him to ditch Uncle Pauly.' 'God, he's a monster.' 'What he did to those girls.' 'I can get Patch.' 'Turn him back on the good path.'
    
      So, I thought. This was more complex than I thought. Maybe not everyone in the bunch was a bad apple. I needed a distraction and a stealthy approach. I stopped and the choppers did likewise. While they circled endlessly around me in that field of crop, I clicked my throat mike and radioed Cox.
    
      "Champion," I said, "Pull those choppers back to base. Anywhere out of earshot. I'm going alone."
    
      "You sure about that?" Cox asked.
    
      "Yes," I replied. "It'll make her drop her guard. She's looking to hide. Champion, she didn't have anything to do with the sorority house. It's not her fault."
    
      "You read her?" Cox's voice crackled back.
    
      "Yes," I said.
    
      "I didn't know you could read at range," Cox sounded suspicious.
    
      "She tried to floor me with a club," I half-lied, "She was pretty worked up then and it simply popped into my head when I threw her off. She thinks we're after her for that."
    
      "Acknowledged," Cox said. "Talisman is in pursuit."
    
      I acknowledged his transmission as I heard the choppers heavy whup-whup-whup dim in the distance. I was alone now. How I proceeded was up to me. I ducked into the grass and duck-walked towards the barn, all while my mind gingerly probing, sensing, and feeling the intense relief in the girl.
    
      'They're gone.' I heard her. 'I'm safe!'
    
      I didn't use mind-sight; I wasn't sure how much my presence would be made known. Still, I could sense she was tired. She's likely to fall asleep. I lifted myself slightly and pushed myself quickly to the side of the barn. The place was empty save for the invisible fugitive. There were no signs of animals. I turned up my focus and sensed the girl in the corner of one of the pens.
    
      I suppose I could call it in to Cox, but that would be overkill. There was no telling what'd the agency would do. Besides, I've handled stuff like this before. I made my decision and stepped in, my focus working overtime. I shifted my focus and concentrated it to the immediate area.
    
      "Anyone here?" I called out. Nothing. She's trying to hide from me, I realized.
    
      Picking up more of her thoughts, I called to her by name, "Phillipa Roget?"
    
      Almost immediately, I saw a plume of dust as the invisible girl scrambled to her feet.
    
      "H--how do you know my name?!" her voice came from the corner, allowing me to zero in on her position.
    
      It was a pretty, melodious voice. The English wasn't perfect. It bore a minor accent I couldn't identify, but sounded innocent and sweet all the same.
    
      "My name is Stanley," I put out my hands to show I was unarmed. "Stanley Chen."
    
      My eyes settled on the corner where the dust had swirled. Thin streams of sunlight came through the cracks in the dilapidated barn's planks. There was something there; an invisible humanoid form. I focused a little more and began to "sense" the physicality of the invisible mass. It was a girl, and a very shapely girl!
    
      "I am --" I decided to leave the agency out in my introduction, "-- a mind-reader. You know, I can tell you if your lucky number if you think about it, or what your favorite color or food is."
    
      I sensed the invisible Phillipa was weighing her options. I could not see her eyes, but she had cast her gaze about, looking for a weapon. She gasped though, when I revealed her intentions aloud.
    
      "I'm not looking to hurt you. You know that. You saved me back there last night. In Sherwood."
    
      "Y--you saw us?" her voice was unbelieving.
    
      "Not exactly," I shook my head for emphasis. "I sense people. What they think or feel becomes very clear to me. I sensed you Phillipa. I sensed the others."
    
      "Don't hurt Patch!" she cried. "It was Uncle Pauly's idea! It's his fault with those girls!"
    
      "I know, I know," I tried to calm her as I inched closer. If I could just grab her, it'll be over, and we could all go home. "You didn't know about your uncle. I sense it from you Phillipa. You tried to help them. But you were afraid."
    
      "I was," there was a strangled sob. "It's all Uncle Pauly's fault! He got Patch to do what he says. He got me to do things too."
    
      "It's okay."
    
      I was near her now. I could smell the sweat on her body and her hair. I could hear the soft mewing as if it was right next to me. Phillipa reappeared so suddenly, I nearly jumped back. One moment there was nothing, the next minute, there she was. It was like someone had put an invisible blanket over her then whipped it off, just like in a magic show. Unlike David's displacement (which required a conscious thought from him) I didn't get any forewarning of her intention. It was like physical reflex instead of a mental one.
    
      The girl sitting on the ground was attractive, but only as so much an extraordinarily tall lanky teenager could be. She appeared to be about thirteen or fourteen, dressed in plain clothing that was a little bit smaller for a growing girl. Her T-shirt was ragged and there were sizable holes in her jeans. I saw she had chalky white skin and bright scraggly red hair. Phillipa looked at me, wiped her eyes, and cracked a small smile.
    
      Good lord, I thought, she still wore braces.
    
      "Are you all right?" I asked.
    
      She was about to answer when she suddenly backed against the wall. I heard a buzzing of thoughts, very dim ones, as I heard shouting and cries of the dead and dying erupt behind me. I turned around in surprise. It was the most unusual thing, to see a humanoid shaped "hole" in spatial reality. Through this window in reality, I could see a dark underpass and Tseng. He was holding something, or someone, in his black gloved hands. He jerked his hand and I heard a familiar rattle in the empty air. It was familiar because the banditos died with a similar sound down in Tecate.
    
      Tseng released his grip on the invisible dead weight and I saw the same un-vanishing act again. Only this time, the magic blanket revealed the body of a withered old man. What startled me wasn't the fact that he suddenly appeared from thin air but rather from the stark fear emanating from his mind. It was as if the man's death would precipitate some awful calamity in the future, and somehow I was a mute witness to the doom that would come. As the final few thoughts drifted towards the edge of my consciousness, my insides turned cold: my mind was filled with fear, panic, and terror.
    
      Still, I was rooted in the now of the moment. Something was happening and I had a job to do. I studied the silhouette of the portal and finally recognized who it was. It was Ghost Light. From the fey haircut and the way he was standing, there was no doubt it was David. Exactly _what_ he was doing that was beyond me.
    
      'Stanley, Stanley, Stanley.' It was David's thoughts. 'If you can pick this up, Christ, come quick. That bastard's going to kill --'
    
      At that moment, Tseng looked towards me. No doubt if I could see him, he could see me. Me, and with Phillipa behind me. He was only able to take one step towards us when --
    
      _POP_
    
      David displaced and stood where the portal was. Phillipa opened her mouth, but no scream came forth. I knew then that Tseng was capable of anything. Even during an agency operation, he was like a smart-weapon gone haywire. If there was any doubt in my mind about who likely killed Viktoriya's brother, it had vanished after that particular demonstration.
    
      "What the fuck just happened?" It was Cox, me, and David all shouting at once. I tore off my ear bud; most of the chatter being utter chaos. I couldn't sort through it even if I wanted to.
    
      "It's Talisman," David coughed then stood up woozily, "He's gone nuts. He killed the two disappearing guys at the Thruway."
    
      "What?!" I stood as Phillipa earnestly began wailing and screaming.
    
      "I couldn't stop him," David shuddered and looked at me, his heart sick, "Not that I could if I wanted to. I told Champion."
    
      "Snake Charmer?" my ear bud sizzled with activity, "Ghost Light?! Answer goddammit!!"
    
      "Champion this is Snake Charmer," I snapped. "Someone tell me what the fuck just happened? Where's Talisman?"
    
      "Talisman reported his targets had to be neutralized," Cox said with some disappointment, "What's your status?"
    
      "My targ--" I glanced at the hysteric teen with sympathy. "The package is alive. Shaken but alive."
    
      "Alive? Alive!! That means you killed them! My family! My family!!" the girl vanished in an eyeblink. "I'll kill you!!"
    
      To his credit, David didn't displace to escape. That would've left me to deal with things alone. Despite not being able to physically see Phillipa, her torrent of thoughts came through quite clear: she was going to use the nearest sharp thing to stab me and David until she sated her bloodlust. As she charged us headlong without regard to her safety, I caught her gently by the arm and let her have it.
    
    ===============================================================================
      IN NEW YORK WITH VIKTORIYA
    ===============================================================================
    
      It was mess. For an operation that was supposed to capture, it wound up being as bloody as the "odd jobs" on the border. The boy (Patch) was nudged by speeding car that didn't see him as he fled across the freeway. Patch was fearful of Tseng's steady advance; he may have been invisible, but if Tseng wanted something, he got what he wanted. Dazed, the boy didn't see the truck that smashed him like a human pinata.
    
      Seeing his nephew die so horribly, the older man attempted to attack Tseng. It was the last mistake he ever made. From what I could piece together, Tseng acted in self-defence and, I suppose, he did keep that portion of the invisible empire from being too visible.
    
      There was irony in this decision. The fugitives vanished as they wanted. Unlike my gift, Phillipa's gift wasn't rooted in the mental realm. It was physical (although I've since learned my gift is also grounded in my physiological make-up) hence, the reason why it was so hard for Tseng, me, and others like us to locate them. If Phillipa wanted to vanish, she'd just vanish. No thought needed. It was an automatic reflex, like yawning or blinking.
    
      Maybe that was the reason, I thought grimly. Pare down the number of potential threats. Unless we were aware of one of them was around, we'd likely not even give the area another glance. Knowing Tseng, I'd probably never get a straight answer from him. Ultimately, it was a decision we all had to live with. Cox debriefed us the next day after we managed a few hours of sleep. I was both relieved and sad about Phillipa.
    
      After I zapped her unconscious, David displaced her and me back to the agency's temporary forward HQ. We drove to Syracuse next. From there, we took a plane to New York City then she was wheeled to a secured wing of a hospital for VIP patients. Once there, Phillipa was shackled with a GPS tracker. A second, more insidious tracker was injected into her skin, just behind her shoulder. Tseng came back with the bodies of the other two. Despite Cox's normal business-like demeanor, even he had to question Tseng's motives.
    
      "I thought the orders were clear," Cox railed, "Capture. Not kill."
    
      The old man with thinning hair held up a single, dangerous finger and halted Cox's tirade. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, but I was too tired to do anything save watch the two men argue.
    
      "Capture," Tseng cocked his head, "If possible. One fled into traffic; the other attacked me. I defended myself."
    
      "In a pig's ass," David muttered but Tseng ignored him.
    
      "Fine," Cox drummed his fingers lightly on the table. "So you had no choice, or thought you didn't. What about Snake Charmer? How'd he --?"
    
      "I just gave her a nerve pinch when she was distracted," I cut him off. "She'll be fine."
    
      Yeah, I thought glumly. Fine until she wakes up.
    
      "I see," Cox was humorless.
    
      I glanced at him and knew he didn't believe me. But for the sake of appearances, he didn't show it. He already suspected Tseng had his agenda. Now he suspected me as well. Still, the big agent wasn't 100 percent sure. After all, I had followed my orders and nabbed the package.
    
      "Well, since you all have busy lives gentlemen," Cox rose, "Payment will be arranged. There's no need to stay."
    
      "Great. You have my routing number." The sandy haired teleporter blinked out without another word. Tseng nodded to me once then walked out the door like a 'normal' person. I remained seated though, my hands curled around an empty Dixie Cup and my mind awhirl with thought.
    
      "Don't you have a job and a girlfriend to go back to?" Cox asked.
    
      "Kinda," I said slowly. I wondered if the agency tracked my goings-ons with my girls. Agent Cox's face revealed nothing about any surveillance against me, but somehow, I suspected that he suspected that there was. Clearly Cox wasn't the person pulling the strings; he was just a face for my benefit.
    
      "I'd like to stay a bit," I crushed my cup, "At least until Phillipa wakes up."
    
      Cox shot me a cautious glance, "Masquerade and her blanket team can only cover you so long. It costs us resources to keep her out there. She's needed elsewhere."
    
      "I've had a lousy Monday," I said, "The least you could do is give me the rest of the week off. Have her cover for me. Can you do that?"
    
      Cox eyed me warily then nodded, "We might be able to arrange that, since you asked. Maybe you can --?"
    
      "I'll talk with Phillipa and do what I can," I said, "But I won't mind-scan --" a lie; if I did it, it will be for my own benefit, "-- she's been through enough in one night."
    
      "Great," Cox nodded and showed me out. "Thanks."
    
      I headed out to the gift shop and did a little shopping. Tseng used that opportunity to debrief me with his version, and in his way. It didn't matter he wasn't anywhere near me, he spoke to me through mind-sight.
    
      'Whatever did Reese say.' Tseng pinged me as I ambled to the magazine rack. 'That you'd think I'd try to kill the girl?'
    
      'Tell me what the hell was that all about at the Thruway.' I thought-spoke as I picked through a sports magazine. 'Why'd you opt to neutralize? They're no more a danger apart from being common ne'er-do-wells.'
    
      'They were a danger.' I saw Tseng's reflection in a window. 'That is the truth. The older one was a career criminal. Imagine an invisible gunman you couldn't see. Couldn't sense. Imagine that in Tecate or Mexicali or Tijuana and shudder.'
    
      'They couldn't make their weapons invisible.' I countered. 'You knew that from the encounter back at Sherwood.'
    
      'The boy couldn't.' I could see Tseng's eyes narrow in the window reflection. 'But the older one could. That's how he was able to taint the sorority house's water with sleeping pills. He was trying to teach it to the others. Make them into him.'
    
      'Like you're doing with me?' I dared to broadcast the thought.
    
      My mentor ignored me and kept on lecturing. 'Susan was curious how her family was cursed with this. I should warn you that the girl ...'
    
      'Her name is Phillipa.' I interrupted him.
    
      '... she is the first in her family to do that.' Tseng continued. 'All the others have been men in the past.'
    
      I blinked. That could explain Patch.
    
      'Her cousin I think.' Tseng mentally shrugged.
    
      'How would this be different?' I thought. 'Man or woman, invisibility is invisibility.'
    
      'It is a matter that is a little more complex than you realize.' He thought-spoke. 'In any case, I have an old friend to visit. Tell her the news.'
    
      'That you killed some of her family?' I felt a wave of disgust.
    
      'If I told you that this was all Susan's idea, would you believe me?' Tseng thought to me.
    
      'Not unless I could determine it for myself.' I thought back. 'And even then, I wouldn't be sure it wasn't you pulling her strings.'
    
      'Fair enough.' His presence became fainter. 'I'll be around Stanley.'
    
      And that was that. If I wanted more answers, I needed to find them for myself. Phillipa regained consciousness before I headed back into the hospital. She wouldn't talk to the agent liaison put to secure her room, nor would she talk to Cox or anyone else (even the doctors and nurses). She did however, speak briefly to me.
    
      Having rooted through parts of her mind when I zapped, I knew some of Phillipa's most conscious likes and dislikes. I bought a bag of soft candy from the gift shop and gave it to her.
    
      "Look I'm sorry about what happened," I said, "But honestly, I didn't know anything save what I was told."
    
      Phillipa squeezed the bag of candy like a stress toy. "And I'm supposed to believe that? I should call the police."
    
      "And tell them what?" I regarded her with a mixture of pity and mirth. "That you turned invisible to do what you can, then got caught by a mind-reader?"
    
      She cast a baleful glare at me then went back to torturing her bag of candy.
    
      "I've read the report," I said softly, "You and Patch were orphans?"
    
      "And cousins," the gangly girl murmured, "Our parents died in the plant fire in '89."
    
      "I'm sorry," I said. "How old are you?"
    
      Phillipa sniffed. "I'm fourteen."
    
      Jesus Christ, I thought. So, she was three years old tops when that happened. Awful luck.
    
      As we got to talking, she opened up a little more, relating how she spent a lot of time at the orphanage. There, she met Patch. She didn't know they were cousins until a man calling himself Uncle Pauly came around. Said he was family. Long lost family. Uncle Pauly took them in, took care of them with his spare dough (that'd explain Phillipa's orthodontic work and some mysterious robberies in the 90s). Then one day in the middle of last year, he showed them what made them special.
    
      Interesting. I only wore rear braces up until I was fifteen or so (my teeth weren't too fucked up) so I knew there was a significant cost to them. I guess Uncle Pauly wasn't all that bad. Actually, I probably should withhold judgment. The autopsies of the invisibles hadn't even come back, so it wasn't clear who had done the dirty deed with those girls.
    
      I chanced a glance at the room's corners and vertices. I was 100% positive the agency was recording our conversation. Probably running checks with local law enforcement on open cases of robberies and such in the tri-state area. I managed to worm one more fact from her (later corroborated by autopsies): Patch was the likely rapist at the sorority house.
    
      Phillipa said that Uncle Pauly and Patch had been doing some sneaking around with her on Patch's birthday and a few weeks after. When they'd come back, Patch would be both happy and agitated. From what I could conclude, it must've been a demented "birthday gift" from Uncle Pauly.
    
      Good god, I thought with disgust. I steered the conversation away and spoke amicably with Phillipa about my own experiences (the positive ones and without revealing anything compromising). Since my own cousin Aurora pretty much compromised my e-mail with all those nude images of herself, I decided there'd be no harm in letting Phillipa keep in touch with me through that address. I filched out my Ferguson Graphics business card and inked my info on it.
    
      "Look, I gotta go," I handed my card to her, "But if you just want to talk or ask questions or whatever, just hit me up okay?"
    
      "Okay."
    
      She took my card gingerly, as if she'd half expect it to fly away on its own accord. I gave her hand a heartfelt and reassuring squeeze. Phillipa grinned shyly at me, showing me her braces. I grinned back and left the hospital wing. I wouldn't see her again until after September 11th. Since I had the rest of the week off in New York City, I did the one logical thing that night -- I took a cab to Brooklyn to visit my special Slavic siren.
    
      "Stanislav!" Viktoriya was so delighted she actually greeted me aloud.
    
      "Hallo Vika," I kissed her.
    
      'Oh , kisa you are safe!' She hugged me so tightly, I struggled for breath.
    
      "Of course," I gave her a confident smile, "What'd Jan say?"
    
      "She is mad at you," Viktoriya was curious, "But she hasn't called since. What happened? Why were you in Rochester?"
    
      At that moment, I hated myself for taking up with the NSA. The agency was something I didn't want the girls to know. If Tseng's activities didn't warrant danger then there was no telling what the agency would do to keep things quiet. How much was safe? I didn't know so I doled it out in small doses. I'd figure if anyone would eventually catch me, it'd be Viktoriya. I could hide some thoughts, but not everything, from my curious Cossack cutie. Besides, there was a connection that was more than simply mind-reading. We'd been together for nearly five years.
    
      'Six.' Viktoriya corrected me immediately. 'We had English in fall of '93.'
    
      'Of course sweetheart.' I set my overnight bag on her sofa.
    
      I had left the hospital where Phillipa was staying a few hours before. It taken that long for my cab to weave through New York City traffic to get to Brooklyn. I had arrived at Viktoriya's apartment just in time for dinner. Fulfilling her role as host, my Russian rumba-queen decided to show me some of the Big Apple's more tender slices.
    
      She and I were at an East Village restaurant, a Turkish place that served great meze. It was there, over the dim glow of candlelight when I finally told her a sanitized version of the truth. I included my suspicions about Tseng but omitted the empire. Viktoriya sat quietly in her chair as she weighed my words.
    
      "Sweetheart, I'm sorry." I swallowed hard. I hadn't noticed that my throat was dry from all the talking I did. I took a quick sip of water and waited nervously for an answer.
    
      "So you are saying you help in reading people?" she finally asked. Living alone in a city of millions had improved her social skills. "Like interrogation?"
    
      "More or less," I said.
    
      "Nothing more?" she asked. "You don't --?"
    
      Kill. That was what she wanted to know. I quickly dispersed the thought. Oh sweetheart, how could I explain all this now?
    
      "Only in self-defence and as a last ditch effort," I replied quietly. My thoughts were fully masked now as I spoke in monotone. "That's what the muscle is for."
    
      "I see," Viktoriya was pensive. I watched her and tried to anticipate her next move.
    
      "That's what Tseng would be," I explained as simply as I could, "Muscle. What do you think? Is he the one?"
    
      "I do not know _who_ killed Pyotr," Viktoriya sighed, "Just that it was one of us. Can you be sure it was he?"
    
      I shook my head, "I can't read him sweetie. His mind's a blank wall to me."
    
      "Well then," she seemed both relieved and disappointed, "There's no point in guessing, yes? But if you think this 'Sang' is so dangerous, why do you continue to associate with him?"
    
      "It's out of convenience," I put my hand on hers. "He's got some things I can learn. I could teach you too. But just say the word Vika, and I'll tell him to piss off and never bug me again."
    
      "No, it's okay Stanislav." The brunette beauty smiled, but the worry in her lovely eyes was unmistakable. "I can feel you've changed, that's all. You don't know it, but you're different now."
    
      "I am?" I asked.
    
      "Yes," Viktoriya squeezed my hands, "You've gotten a little more --" she said something in Russian that I got as "aggressive" or "ruthless" mixed with "self-centeredness".
    
      I felt her hands trembling but there was little more I could do or say to comfort her.
    
      "I think you're going to continue this regardless what I think," she said finally.
    
      It felt weird. I had confessed something I was sure to have caused Viktoriya no small measure of grief, but she simply took it more or less in stride. We finished our meal in silence then took a cab home. Viktoriya didn't have practice the next day but we were content to just sleep. After such a long absence, it felt great to be in each other's physical presence. When I awoke the next morning, I found her stretching in the other room.
    
      'Good morning.' I thought-spoke.
    
      "Good morning, kisa," she didn't break her routine as she spoke aloud.
    
      I grinned despite my disheveled appearance. Someone from logistics support in the agency had grabbed a travel pack with toilet amenities and towelettes. I had bought a pack of underwear (expensive ones) when Viktoriya took me out last night. I showered, cleaned up, and felt a hundred times better.
    
      "So, what do you do for fun around here?" I asked.
    
      "Oh, you're done?" she rose in a most peculiar fashion, as if she was in weightless space. Her telekinesis practically let her levitate.
    
      "How about breakfast?" I stood in the narrow hall. Those old apartments were really something; despite my height, the top of my head grazed the upper jamb of the doorway.
    
      "Hungry?" Viktoriya grinned and stepped close. I tried hard to keep my eyes on her face, but it was difficult. She wore a sports bikini and some ankle high socks. Her tits glistened a little with sweat from her workout. The aroma drove me nuts and I felt myself slowly rise to the occasion.
    
      "You bet," I tried being nonchalant, "I'm starved."
    
      'So am I.' She smiled wolfishly and grabbed my cock.
    
      "Christ Vika," I laughed, then proceeded to thought-speech: 'I meant food.'
    
      'After.' Viktoriya pulled me and my cock towards the fold-down sofa-bed in her room.
    
      Despite having porked Janet just a few days ago, the strenuous activity in up-state New York really got my juices flowing. Absence (and abstinence) made Viktoriya frisky as well. She had flirted with a few of the girls at the institute, but hadn't dared to do anything during competition. As usual, Viktoriya was more cautious than I.
    
      "Mmmngh," she groaned with delight as she gagged herself on my stiff fuckstick.
    
      She sat on the fold-down, her head at the perfect height to gorge her fill on man-sausage. Maybe it was all those times I did have great bare-back sex, or maybe it was just disliking the chill of saliva as it evaporated from my skin, but I never really enjoyed getting oral. Still, it turned Viktoriya on, so I let her enjoy herself.
    
      The full-length mirror Viktoriya used when we communicated with mind-sight was next to the bed. I saw myself: a skinny, average looking Chinese guy standing in a small New York apartment getting a blowjob from a cute Russian dancing queen. I brushed her hair aside so I could see Viktoriya's face in the mirror as she face-fucked my pole.
    
      'Oooh, kisa.' She thought-spoke after I sent her a mental snapshot of us in a mirror. 'This looks like porn!'
    
      'Yeah.' I gritted my teeth.
    
      Despite my personal dislike of blowjobs, they were still blowjobs. My body reacted the only way it could by threatening to spurt. I pulled Viktoriya away and pushed her down on her back. She was already so turned on and my cock so slick with her spit, I pushed into her without difficulty.
    
      "Ungh," she grunted once as she opened herself to me.
    
      I held her long legs apart by her ankles and began thrusting her slowly. I grinned as Viktoriya turned her head to the side and sneezed. Then she propped herself up on her elbows and watched me as I stick my dick into her body. She glanced at me and thought-spoke: 'I want to see it go in. Just like in porn.'
    
      Ah, I thought. A neat little problem. But nothing that required too much work. I picked up Viktoriya then sat her on top of me as I lay back down.
    
      'So I do all the work now?' She seemed displeased. 'What am I? Your whore?'
    
      'Hush sweetheart.' I pinched her playfully. 'You wanted to see this.' I spun Viktoriya around so she was now in reverse cow-girl.
    
      'Oh.' Viktoriya caught on to what I was trying to do. 'Oh god yes!' She could now view herself in the mirror, getting fucked like she was with that huge dildo of hers. Using mind-sight, I could see her reflection in the mirror and wow; it was like a porn film, except I was the actual dude slamming the shit out of the babe.
    
      My telekinesis formed an invisible "surface" that let Viktoriya sit quite comfortably as I thrust against her pussy. It was quite easy. After more minutes of furious fucking, my brunette beauty threw her head back, her shoulder length hair touching my face. She emitted a muffled squeal as I cried out and shot my load.
    
      The one thing Viktoriya and I shared (apart from our gifts) was skin-to-skin bare back sex. My dusky Russkie could manipulate fluids far better than I, and each time I'd inject her tank with infant formula, she'd be able to force it back out using a mix of telekinesis and modified Kegel exercises. It often meant we'd have a light post-coital "snack" afterwards. This time though, she simply collapsed atop me (I had relinquished focus on the telekinetic seat she was on), breathless and tired. It was a little out of character, but it could've been Vika was simply tired.
    
      "Stanislav?" she whispered.
    
      "Yeah?" I tweaked her nipples lightly between my thumb and fingers.
    
      "Would you consider moving to New York? At least part of the year?"
    
      "So I'd split my time between cities?" I patted her taut stomach. "I dunno. I guess."
    
      Viktoriya glared at me with her dark eyes. 'You guess?!'
    
      "Well yeah," I stroked her lazily. "What's in it for me?"
    
      'I knew it.' She lay back and stared blankly at the ceiling. 'You've become bored with me.'
    
      "Bored my ass," I glanced at her, "What gave you that idea?"
    
      "Stay with me." Her audible 'normal' answer was plain and to the point.
    
      "I've got to get back Monday," I nuzzled her. "Let's just enjoy ourselves, alright?"
    
      When Viktoriya didn't reply, I kissed her on the forehead. She turned her head and remained silent.
    
      "What would you have me do?" I asked softly, "I'm not leaving the others, and you know that."
    
      'I like it here Stanislav.' Viktoriya thought-spoke. 'New York is interesting. I want you here to share it with me.'
    
      "I can't blame you," I whispered, "But c'mon, let's get my stuff out of you before ..."
    
      'No.' She put her hands on her belly. 'It will be all right.'
    
      "Now hold on a minute," I sat up, realizing what this meant. "You're sure about this?"
    
      "If I can't see you," Viktoriya's hands balled into fists as she spoke aloud, "Then I'd rather have a part of you with me every day. I miss you Stanislav. More than you know!"
    
      'But we talk.' I thought-spoke. 'Daily.'
    
      'It's not the same.' Her eyes were closed and she was trembling. I suddenly sensed she was trying very hard not to cry.
    
      "Vika don't cry. If it makes you happy," I measured my words carefully, "I'll find a place here, but it's going to take a little time."
    
      "Nonsense." Viktoriya sniffed. "You'll go back and stay in Fog Town with Janna and the others. I know it. You cannot lie to me."
    
      Perhaps not, I thought. But neither could she. Her emotional state made her a little more open,  and I could dimly read her. Viktoriya was a mixture of anger, self-loathing, and jealousy. Her dance partner had belittled her inexperience at the last competition then proceeded to question her dedication to the craft. While they'd done well in the show dance, they lost the competition, placing next to last place.
    
      I knew Viktoriya had been elated going to England but she had gotten progressively more frustrated and depressed afterwards. I hadn't noticed when I saw her three months ago. Now, without the buzz of my other darlings around me, I found I could focus on Viktoriya singly and I sensed her wants more clearly.
    
      How blind I was, I rued. She was more soft-hearted than I realized. Had it something to do with that mind-fuck with Melanie? Or was it when I brought the girls together for New Years? Perhaps it was earlier. Maybe I did something to her; the effects of my gifts weren't an exact science. Even we, its practitioners, weren't sure what the long term side-effects would be. Or had it always been like that with Viktoriya, and had I simply dismissed her a "tough cookie" so I thought she could take care of herself?
    
      I couldn't put a finger on it exactly, but I suspected it was her new surroundings. New York was also a markedly different place than San Francisco. The place was big, interesting and all built up, but there was a pervasive atmosphere of hard-assed-ness and a pace of lifestyle that I didn't care for. Now, I suspected Viktoriya may not be either. But whatever it was, she made me feel enormously guilty. So much so, I spent the remainder of my time in New York satisfying Vika's every whim.
    
      We went around Manhattan, poking our heads into shops and sights that struck her fancy. I even went for that one cliche: a carriage ride in Central Park. When she had practice at the institute, I accompanied her to studio and spent some time talking to her classmates and friends from the institute. I played my part of supportive boyfriend instead of touring other parts of city. I even skipped out on visiting Aurora (she lived in Newark).
    
      It was Thursday evening and we had just found neat little place in West Village (this time, Greek and Mediterranean). I was certainly glad to see Viktoriya coming out of her slump. That evening was marred by two things: David and his fat wife interrupting an otherwise romantic dinner, and Janet going on the warpath.
    
      First, the Reeses. David and Millie occasionally came and went to restaurants across Manhattan; they had, after all, met in New York (somewhere, I didn't care; I just wanted them to leave us alone).
    
      "Fancy meeting you here," David said when he caught sight of me in the restaurant.
    
      Despite the intrusion (it wasn't anything but), I was amicable enough to share a table with them. I introduced Viktoriya and made some light conversation. My Baltic beauty shuffled around Millie's questions with curt, but polite, answers about herself. Only when it pertained to the studio or dance did she open up a wee bit more.
    
      'Good heavens.' Viktoriya mentally gagged. 'This cow wants to learn how to dance?'
    
      'Be polite.' I thought back. 'Otherwise she'll crush you when you try to lift her.'
    
      The mental image I sent nearly made my Baltic beauty spew her drink. She coughed and sputtered, but kept her laughter at bay.
    
      "Good heavens!" Millie offered her a napkin. "Are you okay?"
    
      Viktoriya nodded and managed to catch her breath in between coughs. 'You stupid Yankee clown!'
    
      'Guilty as charged.' I patted her gently on her back. 'It would be a funny sight though.'
    
      Her dark wet eyes regarded me humorlessly as I excused myself to the washroom. I actually had no urge to pee, but David had excused himself earlier to make a call to his lawyer. I instantly caught the thought of 'Stanley and I need to talk about Sherwood,' and 'Boy, I hope he picks up on this.'
    
      Yes I did. And of course, so could Viktoriya.
    
      'I'll talk to his wife.' My Cossack cutie thought-spoke. 'Just don't be long, kisa, or I might have to shut her up myself.'
    
      'Spasee baa, sweetheart.' I bumped into David in the telephone hallway near the washrooms, and immediately asked him, "So you want to tell me what was it you did back up-state?"
    
      "You picked up my thoughts?" he made a face. "You didn't even lay a hand on me."
    
      "You were sitting pretty damn close, and that was all you were thinking about," I gave him an impartial shrug. "What'd you expect?"
    
      "Well fair enough." David rubbed the side of his nose lightly with his finger. "Look, about that. I don't know what to call it but it started a little after you came to the desert house."
    
      "Ah," I reflected.
    
      "They said --" there was no need for him to refer to Cox and Tseng by name "-- good guessing was all you could do. Then I saw you do that trick with the water glass. Thought I should try experimenting more with what I could do."
    
      "I see."
    
      David explained his technique of how by having two different locations in mind, he was able to project a "portal" of himself and thus allow matter and energy go from one spot to another. After a bit of experimentation, he'd learn to cascade himself into two simultaneous locations, and interact with the world in a limited degree.
    
      Neat, I thought. I work with a goddamned self-contained talking wormhole who was also the world's biggest bore. Stephen Mother-fucking Hawking made better conversation than this guy.
    
      "Do they know?" I asked the most obvious question. The agency had eyes and ears everywhere.
    
      "No," David said simply, "And if I keep outta sight, they probably will never know. But _he_ saw me."
    
      There was no question who "he" was: we both knew it was Tseng.
    
      "So why're you telling me this?" I looked around, if just to show we needed to keep this conversation short and furtive.
    
      "Because I have you to thank for inspiration."
    
      "Okay," I accepted his appreciation at face value, but I could've cared less.
    
      Afterwards, Viktoriya and I hailed a cab for home. She asked the Reeses' if they had a ride.
    
      "They live within walking distance," I mind-pricked her gently with what I knew. "They'll be fine."
    
      Of course, the four of us knew that was a lie. While Reese had an apartment in the rougher parts of the Bronx some years before, he had since given that up. After he and Millie married, David had moved to her Stillwater condo. On paper, and officially, that's where they lived. I sensed Ghost Light had no intention of letting the night end so early; I picked up the thought that he and his wife were going to displace back to West Texas and spend the rest of the night abusing his dick. David and Millie shared a grin between themselves as I smiled placidly.
    
      Dumb asses, I thought. You think you're the only couple in the world with dark secrets?
    
      "Okay then," Viktoriya waved, "Well, good night."
    
      "Good night." David and Millie both waved then walked around the corner. Both Viktoriya and I sensed their presences diminish with a _POP_.
    
      'So which one of them can teleport again?' She thought-spoke as she flagged down a cab.
    
      'The man, David.' I thought. 'Did you pick-up anything interesting from the wife?'
    
      Viktoriya looked at me curiously. 'Should I have?'
    
      'He's linked to the agency. And his wife knows about my point of contact.' The cab came and I ushered her in. 'Information can sometimes be ... handy.'
    
      'Stop it, dorogoi.' She put a hand on my knee. 'You are not at work. You are with me.'
    
      "Sorry," I gave her a quick peck on the cheek. In the theme of things, Viktoriya had the cab stop by a pharmacy so she could pick-up a bottle of lube.
    
      'Greek.' She winked slyly at me and thought-spoke so the cabbie couldn't hear.
    
      After that morning of love-making, we hadn't been intimate much afterwards. Both of us tip-toed around the bleak possibilities of our future. However, things slowly lightened up over the past few days. Gloom and doom shouldn't have cut into our personal time. Now this was her way of getting me to stop thinking about my other line of work and to focus on that cute, tight ass of hers. It all came to naught once Janet called. The phone was ringing before Viktoriya's key hit the lock.
    
      "Hallo?" my lithe lovely scowled as a noisy racket came through from the handset.
    
      'It's Tom-Boy.' Viktoriya wrinkled her nose. 'She sounds pissed Stanislav.'
    
      I nodded as she turned her attention back to the receiver.
    
      "Well yes, Janna I just got ba--" Viktoriya sat on the edge of her bed, unable to get another word out as she got roto-rootered long distance. I sat beside her and waited patiently.
    
      "Okay, okay. He's here," she passed the handset off to me and whispered, "Good luck. I'll be in the shower."
    
      "Hey Janet," I managed my most cheerful tone. The rapid breathing on the other end was unmistakable. Janet was pissed.
    
      "Don't 'HEY JANET' me!" my First's voice came through, "Where've you been?"
    
      "In New York with Vika," I said, "Where else?"
    
      "Don't lie to me Stanley Chen!!" her voice rose to a fevered pitch that made me wince.
    
      "I'm not lying," I wanted to add 'per se' but that would've been going to far.
    
      I heard Janet swallow and then continue, "Then explain to me mister, how you can be at work _and_ in New York in the span of a day?! I know you put Viktoriya up to this! Are you on a conference call right now? Where are you?!?!"
    
      "Oh, right." I realized that the agency's Masquerade was still filling in for me at work. Fuckin' hell. I probably should've told my First not to call me at work, or worse. Did she visit the office? What the hell was that Masquerade doing? How exactly was she "covering for me"?
    
      "You saw me at work?" I took on an inquisitive tone. "Are you sure?"
    
      "Of course it was you!" Janet was incredulous. "Who else could it be? And you blew me off! Said you didn't have the time. What bullshit is this Stanley!?"
    
      "Okay dammit," I was tired of being yelled at. "I'll come in on the red eye tonight and I'll see you tomorrow, understand? I'll explain everything."
    
      Or hope I can.
    
      "You'd better," Janet's anger slackened a bit, "Because I think I'm pregnant."
    
      I nearly dropped the phone. "What?"
    
      "You heard me," her voice was shaking. "Where are you when I needed my boyfriend!? In goddamn NEW YORK?!"
    
      "I'll be back tomorrow. Get some sleep okay? Good night."
    
      I hung up the phone, then noticed my hands were trembling. Janet's sudden news was a surprise. I didn't know if I was to be elated or sick. I was feeling a bit of both.
    
      "You're leaving tonight?" Viktoriya stood in the doorway, her body unclothed save for her panties. Her body was dry. She hadn't hit the shower just yet.
    
      "I forgot I had some unfinished business in the city," I sat, dumbfounded by the news.
    
      Viktoriya straddled me and stroked my neck. 'What is it Stanislav?'
    
      "Janet's pregnant," I felt dizzy, "Or she thinks she is."
    
      "Oh," was all she could say. I held Viktoriya close to me and wondered if it would all work out.
    
      'It'll work out. Tom-Boy is smart.' She bumped foreheads with me. 'I'll clean myself out. I'm sorry I pressured you, kisa.'
    
      "No don't," I whispered, "Don't."
    
      Viktoriya's breasts jiggled as she laughed out loud. "Do you think you can take care of two mothers in two different cities silly man?"
    
      "I don't know," I suddenly felt old. "But there's always a first time for everything, no?"
    
      Viktoriya sighed and hopped off me so I could pack. I did so quickly as she called for a cab. The red-eye always had stand-by if one had money, and money (at least) was not a problem. Despite the late hour, Viktoriya saw me off. Dressed in black pumps, a loose but conservative skirt, and a fuzzy sweater, she appeared as she did when I first met her at the library. She stayed with me right up to the time they called for boarding.
    
      "You tell me," I held her hand and pressed it against her belly, "You got that? I'll call you --" by which we knew it to be mind-sight or thought-speak "-- and if it comes to that ..."
    
      'If it comes to that.' Viktoriya thought-spoke as she looked down. Her mental guard fractured from the emotional maelstrom she was in, and I caught a brief glimpse of her innermost thoughts. I sensed her shame in using her body to get what she wanted. Still, she didn't want to hurt me (not intentionally anyway). The idea had come to her at the last possible moment. Janet's call just made everything messier.
    
      "Vika," I tilted her head up, "We're only 24."
    
      'Speak for yourself.' Viktoriya pursed her lips as she replied silently. 'I'm already 25.'
    
      'Okay, you cougar.' I saw her lips twitch but I kept going in regular chat, "There'll be other chances."
    
      "Not likely with you across the country," she whispered sadly.
    
      "Hey," I kissed her lightly, "I promise you things will work out, even if I have to move Heaven and Earth."
    
      "Papa and mama would balk at your impious tongue," she murmured.
    
      "But in the meantime," I got my thoughts got back on track, "It's only been three days. Do you think you can?"
    
      "I'm not sure if I can even if I wanted to," she was glum, "I never tried it so late before."
    
      "Well fine," I gave her a brave grin. "Then whatever happens will happen. But I'll be there for you, understand?"
    
      "Oh Stanislav," she kissed me sweetly. "Get on board now, or you'll never leave."
    
      "I wish I didn't need to Vika," I said lamely.
    
      "Ssh," Viktoriya rested a palm on my cheek and thought-spoke. 'Stay safe, lyubimy. For me.'
    
    ===============================================================================
      JUST ONE OF THE GUYS
    ===============================================================================
    
      I got back to San Francisco International around 6 A.M. Friday morning. I was dead tired, but as soon as I stopped by my house and cleaned up, I was out again. I hadn't notified Brian Cox about my premature departure. Although he might've caught me booking my flight last night (which incidentally, set me back a hefty $700; no small number back in 2000), I was almost sure I could find this "Masquerade" character, whoever she was, before Cox called and then wring her scrawny neck before she left.
    
      I wasn't sure what she did, or how, but Janet's insistence that I was at fault while Masquerade was covering for me now meant my problem was now her problem, at least that's how I saw it. My office at Ferguson was near Janet's firm on Sacramento Street, so I waited on her until she showed up. She arrived on the dot at 7:50 A.M. My proper Lady Wu was always very punctual.
    
      "YOU!!!" Janet stopped so suddenly when she saw me, passers-by nearly collided with her. "You have some explaining to do mister!"
    
      "I know," I grabbed her by the hand. "Come with me."
    
      "But I'll be late!" she started to complain, but I brushed off her concern.
    
      I took her back to Ferguson about three blocks away, all the while explaining myself without including Sherwood, the invisible people or my "odd jobs" on the border. I included the agency, but only reluctantly. It was bound to come out sooner or later.
    
      "Agency?" Janet sniffed as we got into the elevator, "What bullshit is this? I'm not a teenager Stanley. You don't have to impress me with stupid spy stories."
    
      "Okay, okay. But just wait all right? I can explain," I cast an eye on her tummy, "On another topic: have you seen the doctor about it?"
    
      "It's not an 'it'," Janet became defensive. "It's a he or a she."
    
      "All right," I relented, "But the doctor?"
    
      "No, not yet," my First brushed back some loose hair, "But tomorrow."
    
      "Tomorrow's Saturday," I pointed out.
    
      "I got hold of a good obstetrician," Janet said. "He works weekends but has the weekdays off."
    
      "Nice."
    
      The elevator chimed and its doors opened. I stepped out, pulling Janet with me. Franky turned the corner and jumped at the sight of me.
    
      "Stanley?" he paled, "Is that you?"
    
      "Who else?" I said as I pulled Janet past him.
    
      "But you were just --!!" Franky never got to finish, because as soon as Janet and I turned the corner, we were greeted by a shock. Well, more like greeted by me. My doppelganger, a perfect copy of me, was sitting in my desk, clicking away at God-knows-what. Son of a bitch! He was dressed in similar clothing, shirt, slacks, very professional.
    
      The only problem: I didn't own those shirts and slacks. And I detested that mix of colors and patterns. It was something a gay, retarded, color-blind clown would wear to a homeless encampment's Halloween party. My doppelganger looked up at the sudden cry of alarm; Janet's cry. It (for what else could it be?) saw me. Its eyes went wide and it quickly ducked out of sight.
    
      "Janet?" I turned and found my First swooning. I caught her as she collapsed to the floor, "Honey?!"
    
      "Uh, Stanley?" Franky and a few other employees had gathered around, "What's going on?"
    
      "Get her some air," I handed Janet off to a nearby woman, "I got someone to catch."
    
      "But what should --?"
    
      I took off without a backwards glance. Whoever that was, I was sure Cox knew something about. Was that Masquerade? Mulling over the code name, I wondered if it was deliberate. I needed to focus, and I caught thoughts of fear, surprise, and shock. Those were the feelings I snapped from my clone just before it vanished. There was plenty of surprise, chiefly because Janet had fainted in the office. Shock, I got from a few of the fellows who marveled at Janet's ethereal beauty -- and her damn skirt had ridden up when she slumped over, showing off her silk underwear. Sorry, honey.
    
      But the fear ... ah, there we go. I zoned in on the emotion and ran after it. I forced open the fire door, keeping the alarm trigger depressed to the fire alarm wouldn't go off. The door slammed shut behind me. No problem. I knew I could open it by applying telekinesis on the other side. I looked up and the presence seemed to dim. I gazed down and the presence grew stronger.
    
      No escape for you, I thought and raced down the stairs. They opened to a busy sidewalk. Not as busy as New York, but still pretty busy during San Francisco's morning commute. The presence had stopped. It was hiding in plain sight. My focus drifted over the crowd in 10 paces of me, then 20 paces, and then 30 paces. About 40 paces away, I caught sight of the polka-dotted shirt and pinstripe slacks.
    
      This -- thing -- just wrecked my carefully crafted image. Oh you may laugh, but in my line of work, I needed to demonstrate good knowledge of color media, congruent pattern, and essential basics of a sharp dressed man. Anything else may out off potential clients. I stepped right behind the duplicate, focusing my concentration. Some surface thoughts floated back to me, a jumble of imagery and details that took me a while to sort through. I was ready to zap it, or otherwise employ telekinesis and drag it someplace until I could get a hold of the agency to return their meta-human toy.
    
      Damn discovery and damn Tseng. This thing, whatever it was, scared the living crap out of Janet and someone owed me an explanation. I stepped right behind her in the croissant and coffee line and gripped the thing tightly by the arm.
    
      "Hello," I whispered loudly. "Come with me please."
    
      I then thought-spoke a name I had rooted out from the jumble of thoughts: 'Bethany.' The doppelganger turned and I saw it had the appearance of a young man, but with a different face. Caucasian and around my age. He/She appeared shocked and surprised but "it" didn't show any as I escorted him/her out of the line and back into my building through the side door.
    
      "You must have mistaken me for someone else," the young man sounded very effeminate. "Who are you?"
    
      "Private security. We need to talk," I said briskly then added thought-speak: 'Don't make a scene and stay quiet until we're alone.'
    
      The young "man" said nothing more until I brought him into the stairwell. I stopped short of the firedoor and block the exit with my body.
    
      "How'd you get past the fire door without an alarm?" I asked. The man stepped back and sighed.
    
      "I guess the gig's up, eh?" His voice sounded remarkably feminine now. I visibly jerked away as his face seemed to melt away. It wasn't horrible, merely startling. The woman past the mask was a stern-faced beauty with sharp cheeks.
    
      "Electronic circuit jammer," the man-turned-girl held a small palm-sized circuit board. "Killed the breaker so I could slip out."
    
      "Agency gear," I glanced at her. "So you're the one he called on Monday."
    
      "Yup. But Champion called back," she said, "He said you weren't due back until next Monday. What happened?"
    
      "Something came up. I had to come back early."
    
      "Oh," the pretty young blonde nodded. "Well just so you know, this doesn't happen often, you know. Meeting the original I mean."
    
      "I suppose not," I gazed at her sternly. "Since you've been impersonating me, what've you been telling my fiancee?"
    
      She broke into smiles. "Which one? The lawyer, the cook, or the engineer?"
    
      "Janet," I coughed and corrected myself. "The lawyer, I mean."
    
      "Oh yeah. Well, nothing incriminating I hope," the woman stretched, looking remarkably alluring despite her choice of attire. "Just said 'you didn't have time'. Very generic. She got pissed though."
    
      "Yeah," I nodded angrily. That was what wrecked my vacation with Viktoriya. "Jan and I have a complicated relationship."
    
      "Oh sorry." She levelled a smile before she went on. "You know, you have a very deep voice for an Asian guy."
    
      "I do?" I asked.
    
      "Yeah," she said, "I had a heckuva time just fending them off and sounding 'all man'."
    
      "Welcome to my world," I extended my hand. "I suppose I should introduce myself. Stanley ..."
    
      "Chen," she finished and took my hand lightly. "Yeah, sorry about all this. It was really short notice. My name is Bethany Adams. The agency calls me ..."
    
      "Masquerade?" I finished, "I overheard Cox. It's very apt."
    
      "Well pleased to meet you," Bethany sat on the stairs. "Golly, I don't know how you manage. Those girls have all been calling you day in, day out. It got so busy, I couldn't even forward your work to the Naval Architecture guys."
    
      "The U.S. Navy is drafting plans for the SoMa (South of Market) housing project?" I stared as shock hit my body. "You sure they know what they're doing?"
    
      "Oh, I'm sure it's fine." The pretty bobbed-hair blonde grinned as she debriefed me. "Besides, nothing's due yet and they made notes for you. I filed everything on your computer."
    
      "Thanks," I scratched my head, "I guess."
    
      "Sweet porn stash too." I could tell she was lying by the size of her obnoxious grin.
    
      "Must be a computer I'm not aware of." I laughed as Bethany pouted, her little joke falling flat. I appreciated her sarcastic smart-assed tongue. She reminded me of me.
    
      "Hey no worries." Bethany recovered quickly. "It's all good."
    
      "Sorry if I was a little rough," I said, "You know how things at the agency are."
    
      "Really?" she asked, "I never knew. I'm just support, y'know?"
    
      Of course, I thought. You probably never went down to Mexico with Tseng. When Viktoriya said I had changed, she was onto something.
    
      "Well, I'm sorry in any case." I gave her my trademark grin.
    
      "Such a cad," Bethany tilted her head slightly. "You know I'd go out with you, if just for fun."
    
      "Oh really?" My smile grew wider. Monster, my inner voice sang out. Just banged Vika on the East Coast, knocked up Janet, and now trying to score in a stairwell? Un-fucking-believable.
    
      "Ya really," her head bobbed, "But I'm engaged."
    
      "Oh," I brought myself under control. "Congratulations. Who's the lucky guy?"
    
      Her mouth twisted into a shy smile. "Her name is Denise."
    
      "Oh," I blinked. Bethany's words started to sink in. "Whoa ..."
    
      "That never gets old," her eyes twinkled as she laughed, "Must be my charm."
    
      I grinned stupidly. It hadn't occurred to me that a girl this pretty would prefer girls to boys. Viktoriya was about the only girl I knew who did that sort of crap, but she leaned more towards men than women when I was around. I guess that was all that mattered.
    
      "So," Bethany got up, "How do you want to do this? The exit strategy I mean. I guess quite a few people saw us both at once."
    
      "I can give a rat's ass about them. I can find a new job, but I'm worried about Janet. She doesn't need to know because ..."
    
      "She doesn't need to know because she doesn't need to know," Bethany agreed and rubbed her cheek like a girl half her age. "I think I got something, but you just nod and follow along okay?"
    
      "Anything to get things back to normal." I was just relieved there was some sort of solution to this mess.
    
      So, if anything, I have Bethany Adams to thank for saving my job and my (future) marriage. She played the part well, taking my jacket and disguising herself as my agency handler (she had fake credentials to back her story up). Suddenly, instead of being a simple CAD draftsman, I was also a structural weakness analyzer for an undisclosed agency. Mr. Ferguson arched his brow when Bethany brought this up. If my standing wasn't up to his standards earlier, it certainly was now.
    
      In Janet's case, well, things more or less worked out for the best. I was a government "something". Since Janet was connected with law firms that may have specialized in criminal law, Bethany didn't push her luck and just remained nebulous about the whole matter. In regards to Bethany's impersonation act, she had rigged up something in her hotel room just for this kinda of demonstration. It appeared like a very well done skin mask (like the ones Peter Graves would use in Mission: Impossible!). Janet calmed down after that demonstration, and I felt myself going at ease too.
    
      Still, it was very hush-hush (although nowhere near the level Tseng and I operated on). But things got sorted out and that's all that mattered. Bethany even accompanied Janet back to the firm and helped explain her tardiness.
    
      Bethany and I remained close on a professional basis if only because we shared the same headaches keeping our agency lives apart from our private ones. Tseng later told me she was a nominal member of the invisible empire for she only had the ability to conjure audio-visual illusions. Her ability to mimic someone's appearance was often limited to the face due to the incredible amount of detail she needed to maintain. It was this new angle (and application) of mental illusion that let me handle some unsavory business later on.
    
    ===============================================================================
      INTERLUDE -- NEOPOLITAN BEAUTIES
    ===============================================================================
    
      As it turned out, Janet's morning sickness was chiefly due to an anxiety attack that started with the aftermath of the bank robbery. Later, it got exacerbated when she discovered I was missing Monday night. And the pregnancy test? Janet was so nervous and rushed, she misread it (it happens). So after a few more tests, the results were pretty much final in a week: Janet hadn't ...
    
      "Score the motherlode?!" Melanie greeted us when we came back.
    
      Janet smiled meekly, shook her head mildly then drifted off to the outer room to be alone.
    
      "Yu-Ching, be polite," I scolded her gently.
    
      Melanie would normally make a face and try to talk back to me (she did it more and more often as she grew older) but she saw I was serious about Janet's despondent mood. Yu-Ching turned back to the stove without another word. I stepped over and took a look at the dishes for tonight. I lifted a lid to peek underneath.
    
      "Looks interesting."
    
      "Ngm-ho-deem*!" [* Cantonese: Don't touch!] she rapped my hand with the ladle. "You'll turn them yellow and yucky."
    
      "Sorry."
    
      I withdrew and reached for a glass of water. That's what it was like around her kitchen. Melanie only attended a half day at high school and spent the rest of her time cooking up new dishes (or improving old ones) at the Hotel and Restaurant vocational program at City College. Not wanting to just do that, she also took a few computer science courses to round out her education. Nevertheless, with only her and Shawn still in school, Janet, Viktoriya and I seemed to have out-grown (or at least out-paced) the two.
    
      In an effort to keep everyone connected, I'd make an effort to have a casual get-together when I could. Viktoriya wouldn't be able attend, but Shawn always made the effort along with the others. It was Canton cuisine at first, but Melanie expanded to do other things: kabobs, cheese-less pizza (what traditional pizza should be), Turkish meze, vegan meals, and a score of other dishes she'd pick up from restaurant menus.
    
      Now of course, Melanie didn't just steal them. We'd eat out too. If my little Chen possessed a gift I didn't have, it was that she could pick out almost every individual ingredient. Seeing my little cooking mama so focused on the stove, I rummaged through the refrigerator and found a glass jar of dried and cured scallops. Heavily flavored, they were used to bring out a natural sweetness in a variety of dishes. My mother though, had spoiled Andrew and me when we were younger by showing us how we could eat them as-is (straight from the package).
    
      They were awesome (even if little bits get caught between your teeth, but that's what dental floss was for). However, the best brands generally cost upwards of several hundred dollars per pound, so consuming them like junk food wasn't an option. But with so much cash from Ojinga, I earnestly didn't feel much of a pinch, so I'd buy a bag of those preserved scallops every couple months.
    
      For Chinese culinary perfectionists like my mother and Melanie, they made great gifts. Melanie's parents were suitably impressed as well. At least they stopped pestering my parents about how much time their daughter was spending at my place now. I grabbed the smallest scallop from the jar and sat down at the table. After breaking up the damn thing, I peeled off a thin strand and I savored the unique taste in my mouth.
    
      "Xicdou-teem-xai li-yutjun mou-weihou*!" Melanie turned around and threatened me with her ladle. [* Cantonese: Filling up on sweets, you'll spoil your appetite!]
    
      I sat her down on my knee and offered her some. She surrendered to her munchies and popped a few bits in her mouth.
    
      "Manman xic-eh*," I pinched her arm. "That's like an hour of work at the office you're eating." [* Cantonese: Eat slow; chew your food (in the exact same idiomatic way of Bill Murray's delivery in Ghostbusters)]
    
      Melanie stuck her tongue out, a mess of gold and yellow was atop it. She snuck it back in her mouth before I could say more.
    
      "Li-yinggoy-tung-jiejie ..." she swallowed her snack and reverted to English. "You should be with Janet jie-jie."
    
      "I'm sure she'll be fine. I mean she did misread her own test. She got her hopes up."
    
      "When'd you turn into a big meanie?" Melanie elbowed me gently. Of all the thing she could learn, she learned rough-housing from Shawn (and got quite good at it).
    
      "I'm sure she'll be fine," I reached out and sensed Janet's mood of gloom hadn't changed much. "I'll see her later. Right now, I want to spend time with you."
    
      My little darling was about to reply when we heard the door to the garage creak open.
    
      "Melanie? Janet? Stanley?" Shawn came in (she had a set of keys too).
    
      "Hi Shawn!" Melanie hopped off me.
    
      "Hey muffin," I greeted her with my usual "hello".
    
      "So guys," my plump angel took off her shoes and hugged Melanie. "So, what's the news?"
    
      "False alarm," I said as pleasantly as I could. "Janet's in the studio."
    
      "So, go on in and be with her," Shawn nagged. "I'll help Melanie here."
    
      "That's what I told him," the petite girl said with a huff. "He wouldn't listen."
    
      "Well with such a passionate second opinion," I held my hands out, palms upturned, "It's much more convincing."
    
      "Uh-huh," Shawn helped herself to a can of Arizona iced tea. "C'mon, Stanley. Own up. You shot blanks. So, get in there and try again."
    
      "You're pretty liberal about my body." I flashed her a sly grin. "Maybe I should let you sub for me and do Janet. All you need is a tube of my stuff and a syringe that looks like Jodie Foster's knuckles."
    
      "Stanley!" Shawn's face turned beet red as Melanie broke into laughter.
    
      Family Guy had made it into our entertainment circuit (until it went on hiatus), and its cruder lines and quips quickly made it into our daily vernacular. Aside from that impromptu orgy that occurred in Shawn's apartment when she was still at San Jose State, Janet and Melanie were probably not privy to what Shawn had also done with Viktoriya.
    
      According to my Baltic beauty, she and Shawn had done more than just impale themselves on my stick after my hangover from Faraz's and Ghandia's engagement dinner. That was probably one of the few times I could count (on one hand) where I had lost control of my mind. Couldn't blame me though: I learned (the hard way) that Rachelle had been engaged without even telling me. I wasn't in the best shape to have a carefree three-some until the next morning.
    
      Outwardly, Shawn dismissed her experimentation simply as that. However, I sensed my plump pumpkin was more than a little scared that she was so at ease with it. She was earnestly afraid she was bisexual, and the fallout from her family would compound the problems of her future with me. My constant teasing of course, did nothing to help her situation.
    
      "Seriously now," Shawn took on a serious tone. "Janet's really sweet and if you can stop being such a dick for a minute, you can make yourself useful."
    
      "Sounds like fun," I laughed and flicked my glance down at my crotch. "After all I already got one."
    
      Shawn glared at me with her hands on her hips. Even Melanie shook her head with disapproval.
    
      "All right, all right. I'm going." I had grown tired of their nagging, and decided to concede before things got out of hand.
    
      I headed to the restroom to wash up. By now, my room was pretty much lived in; when I finally handed the room to Andrew, I needed to have a professional cleaning service go through the place. The girls left stuff when they visited: lotions, combs, hair clips, soap, perfume, hair gel, nail lacquer, skin cream; if you can buy it a Walgreens (or a pharmacy) I probably had it in my bathroom.
    
      I picked through the forest of bottles and plastic on the sink to grab a spool of floss. I cleaned up, rinsed my hands, and stepped back outside. Shawn and Melanie were swapping SanDisk cards and flash drives between their MP3 players. Despite Napster's recent shutdown, my two young darlings were web-savvy enough to find other P2P services (precursors to BitTorrent) and continued their file-sharing.
    
      I rolled my eyes. These two were always up to something and they shared lots of things. Last year, Shawn and Melanie were trading Pokemon on an almost daily basis. I gave the two girls a wry grin as I walked past. Seeing me amble by, Shawn threw me a kiss while Melanie stuck out her tongue. That elicited a quick swat on her bottom from me, and a chuckle from Shawn.
    
      "Ow!" Melanie yelped and pouted. "He hit me Shawn Ellen! He's a big meanie!"
    
      "Only one thing for that," Shawn pointed towards my studio. "Go to your room!!"
    
      "Yes 'mother'," I gave her a quick peck on the cheek and headed to the outer room.
    
      I found Janet moping on my old drafting table (most of my work by this time was computerized). She had taken up a well-used HB drafting pencil and doodling on some scraps of trace paper. I needn't say anything. I put my hands on her shoulders and she slumped them.
    
      "Took you long enough," she murmured.
    
      "I thought you wanted to be alone," my tone was apologetic. "You looked worn out when we left."
    
      "I was so sure," Janet said softly, "I guess I'm just not ready huh?"
    
      "Naw. You're stressed."
    
      "Yeah," she sniffed, "And guess who's to blame?"
    
      "I'm touched," I remarked dryly.
    
      My tone was more sarcastic than sincere, but she dismissed it. Instead, Janet turned and glared at me.
    
      "No, you're blessed. How many women do you know who'd put up with the crap you've pulled off mister?"
    
      "Four that I know," I gave her a childish grin.
    
      "Quit being a smart-ass," she hissed, "And what's all this spy crap? You never explained it all y'know."
    
      "I thought Bethany pretty much did," I said, "I mean, you _were_ listening right?"
    
      "Don't make fun," Janet scolded, "I was worried sick about you. I hope you're not going to make a habit out of this."
    
      "Well that was an emergency," I shrugged, "Just have to hope it won't happen again."
    
      "So what do you do?" she looked at me. "Honestly."
    
      "I'm just an analyst," I borrowed Bethany's explanation to my employer, "Structural collapses and all that goodness."
    
      "But you're no engineer," she sounded suspicious, "Even Shawn would be more qualified than you."
    
      At that, we both grinned stupidly. It was hard to think that the plump, doughty girl was capable of great engineering feats. But while her appearance was that of roly-poly young lady, her mind was pretty sharp where it counted.
    
      "Well, it's not all mechanical," I rubbed my nose and stretched the truth slightly. "Besides, a fortified bunker protects against a bomb blast, but it's not that pleasing to the eye. Clever design can make a place secure without making a city look like Soviet Russia."
    
      "I suppose," Janet still sounded unconvinced.
    
      "Think of it as a side-job," I said.
    
      "Oh." She blinked and remembered how I had spent so freely during New Years in New York.
    
      "Satisfied now?" I growled.
    
      "Getting there," Janet quickly locked the door to the studio then slinked back towards me. "How about a little appetizer before the main course?"
    
      "That depends," my pants suddenly became a little tight, "What're we having?"
    
      "Pussy," she breathed my ear, "With a creamy stuffing."
    
      "Well sure I guess," I chuckled, "Since it's on the house."
    
      Janet smiled shyly as I picked her up and carried her to a small foldout sofa-bed next to the bookcase. She quickly pulled off her panties and lifted her skirt.
    
      "Make it a quickie Stanley," she looked nervously at the door, "I don't want to be late for dinner."
    
      "For the record, honey," I kissed her, "I don't mind the orgies you've sponsored."
    
      "Shut up you and do me." Her words would've scared me, had she meant them. But there wasn't any anger behind them. In fact, Janet was smiling brightly and giving me "come hither" looks.
    
      Given Melanie's obsession about being on-time, she'd probably be pissed if we were even a minute late for dinner. So, I unzipped my pants and stuffed my stiffy into Janet without much ceremony. She shut her eyes and grimaced as I rammed her. She was dry but tight. It was different feeling though, like putting myself through sticky plastic or something.
    
      It felt weird. It was definitely something we hadn't done before. In the past, we had gone at it for pleasure. The sheer enjoyment of looking at each other as orgasms took hold of our young bodies. Now, as I pumped her, I was a man in my mid-twenties fucking a 29 year-old woman. Well not quite 29. She would be in June. But still ...
    
      "Stanley?" she whispered, "C--could you stop for a minute?"
    
      I blinked and found Janet's face contorted in pain. I stopped and dared not move an inch.
    
      "Need me to slow down?" I asked hoarsely.
    
      "Yeah, please," she nodded.
    
      I didn't move my hips but I did bend over and kissed her. My First kissed me back, then nodded for me to continue. I did so, but after a little while, she expressed discomfort again. I hung my head in disappointment and slowly pulled out of her.
    
      "I'm sorry I ruined your fun," Janet studied me as I dressed.
    
      "Oh, don't worry about it baby," I kissed the back of her hand.
    
      "Maybe we can try later," she said, "How about after dinner?"
    
      "Maybe," I hushed her, "But it's likely Shawn's last night in the city. Let her pick what we should do for fun, okay?"
    
      "Oh right," Janet frowned, "I forgot her parents are pushing up her schedule."
    
      "I'll find the time," I winked. "Don't you worry darling."
    
      "I'm sure you will," she eyed me wryly, "It's free pussy after all. You don't have to work for it anymore."
    
      "Hey," I growled, "I can barely type after a night with you, sister. Imagine the news headline: Architect Liable For Building Failure. Flaws In Plans Found To Have Been Caused By Carpal Tunnel Syndrome Because He Had To Finger Fuck His Wife Last Night."
    
      "You stupid asshole!" Janet slapped me lightly on the cheek but she was laughing.
    
      I kissed her and felt her tongue flick the insides of my mouth. It was getting me hot and heavy until someone rapped against the studio door.
    
      "Janet jie-jie?" It was Melanie.
    
      "Stanley?" And Shawn. "Are you two done in there? Dinner's ready!"
    
      "Coitus-interruptus by the two little munchkins," Janet groaned unhappily. "We really need to get away."
    
      "I'll start looking for a travel package," I grunted uncomfortably as I stood.
    
      "I meant. Nevermind," my First wrinkled her nose and sighed. "Ugh. Let's eat. I'm starved."
    
      Dinner was pretty good, but for a goodbye dinner, it was bittersweet. Shawn wouldn't be away forever, but three years in Tokyo would be quite a chunk of time. I was determined to leave a good impression on her though. When I asked Shawn what she wanted to do, she asked if we could play some group games.
    
      So, I broke out some old board games (Sorry and Sugoroku/Monopoly were all-around favorites) as well as ball-and-jacks. Things started getting physical when Janet decided to play truth or dare and Melanie dared her to play spin the bottle. To forestall any naughty plans Yu-Ching might've had, I telekinetically nudged the bottle so it pointed at her three times in a row. Instead of kisses though, Janet, Shawn and I tickled, paddled, and pinched the unlucky Melanie until her bottom was sore.
    
      "No fair!!!" Yu-Ching whined and rubbed her butt.
    
      She pouted in such a cute way that I succumbed and gave her a consolation kiss. I realized too late I probably shouldn't have done that. I remembered what happened the last I did that: it was in Shawn's San Jose apartment, only this time, Viktoriya wasn't connected to me by mind-sight. It didn't matter though, as soon as we made contact, a psychic event occurred.
    
      Oh fuck, I thought. The psychic ripple emanated from Melanie and the other two girls felt its immediate effect.
    
      For some damned odd reason, the whole scene struck Shawn as funny. Pretty soon, the plump girl was laughing so hard, she fell over with tears in her eyes. There seemed no stopping it, the event was infectious. Janet fought desperately to keep a straight face, but eventually she succumbed and broke into hysterical laughter.
    
      Embarrassed, Melanie put on an angry little grin, grabbed a cushion and began playfully bludgeoning Shawn and Janet on their arms, legs, breasts and buttocks. The two older girls let out brief cries and made half-hearted attempts to fend off the diminutive teenager. Janet grabbed one pillow from my bed, Shawn the other and hit Melanie above and below.
    
      "Hey not too rough now," I scolded and got whapped with a cushion for intervening.
    
      So much for being a peacemaker. The three girls then decided that I made a suitable target and I was quickly attacked and held prisoner. The night was still young, and Janet incited further mischief all by herself.
    
      "Lock the door," she said to no one in particular. Melanie stood up and turned the corner. I heard the door click shut and deadbolt slid into place.
    
      "Whoa hey," I stared at her, "What the heck do you think you're doing?"
    
      "We're gonna play a little game," Janet said saucily and winked at the others. "It's called 'Guy Rodeo'."
    
      "Guy Rodeo?" Shawn wore a confused look. "I never heard of it. How's it played?"
    
      My First's cheeks turned red but she quickly composed herself and explained the game.
    
      "It's easy. It's like 'Hot Potato' but -- y'know -- different."
    
      "I know 'Hot Potato' Janet jie-jie," Melanie came back. "Is Stanley gonna be the potato?"
    
      "I ain't that fat." I managed to grin at my own poor physique.
    
      "Oh, you're fat where it counts," Janet growled and undid my pants.
    
      "Janet?" Shawn's eyes went wide. "What are you doing?!"
    
      "It's how the game's played," my First wore a mischievous grin. "We each take turns riding Stanley's cock. Whoever he cums in first ..."
    
      "Loses?" I said helpfully.
    
      "Kinda," she said. "We change riders if someone cums. And we play till only one of us remains."
    
      "Wait, what?" my eyes went wide, "That means I have to ..."
    
      "Twice Stanley dearest," Janet licked her lips with anticipation. "Oh, c'mon. It won't be as bad as last time!"
    
      I heard Shawn and Melanie both chortle.
    
      "Hold up," I became suspicious. "Where'd you learn this game?"
    
      "In Chicago," my First's ears burned bright red. "I read it on Playboy.com."
    
      "You ever play before?" I pouted. I already read her mind: 'Just with vibrators at the sorority.' (da-yum!) 'Better say no though.' (sure, okay sister) 'Good lord, my poor Stanley must think I'm a slut.' (HU-HU-HUH-UHU-HUUU)
    
      "No, of course not," Janet made a face at me then snapped her fingers. "Mel, gimme a wash cloth will ya?"
    
      Melanie grabbed a small hand towel, wetted and wrung it dry, and then handed it to Janet. My First cleaned my cock and passed the towel back to Little Chen.
    
      "Time to ride cowboy," Janet's tongue flicked out. I grimaced from pleasure, then gasped as Janet touched a sweet spot. Shawn sat on the ground in a state of embarrassed silence while Melanie was practically tearing off her clothes.
    
      "So, muffin," I stroked Shawn's hand gently, "How many three-ways have you been in?"
    
      "Why Stanley," my plump petunia soured, "What a thing to ask!"
    
      "C'mere you big soft American cow-girl," I tugged at her.
    
      "Hey wait a minute," Janet glanced between me and Shawn, "I was going to go first!"
    
      "Bet you a hundred bucks sweetheart," I winked at my First, "That I'll eliminate you first."
    
      My First grinned like a wildcat. She knew there was little chance I could hold back if she rode me after Shawn. Janet was up for my bet, and my challenge.
    
      "Oh yeah? You wish! You're on mister."
    
      Shawn winced as she sat on me. Melanie came to her rescue. Yu-Ching grabbed some vegetable oil from the kitchen counter, warmed a few drops between her slender fingers then slid them between my cock and Shawn's pussy wall. My Anglo angel gasped. I suppose it felt like one of those Japanese tentacle-rape animated shorts (anime). Melanie's slender fingers certainly made headway in between the surfaces of my pole and Shawn's hole. It must've felt like something squirming inside her orifice.
    
      "Like it Shawn Ellen?" Melanie giggled.
    
      Janet and I looked at one another and grinned wryly. Despite being the youngest, Melanie was probably the most perverted of my darlings (with Viktoriya and Janet pretty much competing for second place). The lithe little teen was behind Shawn, fingering her clit and cupping her melon heavy breasts.
    
      "You keep doing that and she'll scuzz," Janet teased.
    
      No sooner than Janet's words left her mouth did Shawn suddenly seize up and cried softly, "Uffuck!!"
    
      I felt my plump dumpling's quim tighten and squeeze Melanie's fingers out as she came. Shawn's legs clamped up tight as her body shuddered involuntarily.
    
      "Oooh," Melanie laughed and licked her pungent, oily fingers, "Looks like my turn."
    
      "Wait a minute," I said, "Isn't that cheating?"
    
      "That's okay, Stanley." Shawn grinned foolishly as she lay quietly beside me. "It felt good. I don't mind."
    
      I glanced at my First for a rules clarification. Damn, I really could lose a hundred bucks if I came in Melanie first.
    
      "Meh," Janet shrugged her shoulders. "Anything goes I guess. I mean, this isn't the Olympics or anything."
    
      "Janet, please," Shawn's body glowed a healthy red from her embarrassment.
    
      Melanie ignored the by-play and slid her small tender body onto my prick. I groaned concentrated on keeping her cunt walls away from my sensitive glans. Despite the trick I could do with telekinesis, I could not avoid the feeling of great emotional pleasure from Melanie's mind.
    
      "Unngh--mother--fucker," I shut my eyes and gritted my teeth, forcing myself to think of something else as the lithe high school senior rode my cockshaft.
    
      "O--oohg," Melanie's hips slowed then stopped just before I thought I had hit the point of no return. I opened one eye and glanced at her.
    
      "What's wrong baby girl?" I asked.
    
      "My butt's sore," she slid off and rubbed her ass, "You big mean dummy. Pinching me and all that. Hmph!!"
    
      "Aw, I'm sorry," I reached out but Melanie strode towards the restroom, rubbing her apple cheeked bottom.
    
      Janet quickly rescued me from disappointment.
    
      "So studly," she wriggled her hips and settled down with a sigh of satisfaction. "We still on?"
    
      "It's hardly fair," I gave her sheepish grin.
    
      "We'll see about that."
    
      My regal First bent down close, kissed my neck, and began moving her hips. It took barely a minute for Janet to lose her bet. I forgot who won that night, because I matched my record and shot off a third (and final) time. I was just glad I was able sleep in my own bed this time.
    
    ===============================================================================
      WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS ...
    ===============================================================================
    
      Three million. That's what it cost me back in 2000 to buy and then rebuild our new home. Throw in the extras for finding housing for the existing residents and it would've been more, but a few quick deals using my gift and the tenants left for new places without incurring much more costs (apart from moving and stuff).
    
      The site that was finally settled on was on 43rd and Geary. The old Sutro grocery had been long replaced by a neighborhood Walgreens. One block down was a district firehouse. There was a reliable stream of public transportation less than a block away. The neighborhood was comprised of single family homes or small apartments. My project was an aberration of sorts, but it pretty much held to the condo/apartment design.
    
      The big difference of course, was that the girls and I would have keys to everyone else's place (though it was an unspoken rule to ring the bell or knock when visiting someone else's quarters later on). The building was shrouded from view using scaffolding; the contractors I hired were done through my own connections to the business. There were some minor details I wanted to include to make my girls' lives more palatable.
    
      As for signing off on the design, I prepared two plans: one for the city's planning commission, and one for my contractors. The building inspector I could find and fool using my gift. That wouldn't be a problem once I accompanied him through the place.
    
      I suppose a brief list of my improvements wouldn't hurt: hot water in the showers and baths was provided by electric heaters in the walls (something I picked up from Hong Kong, the U.S. tags them as tankless water heaters today); generous sound-proofing was applied between floors; the laundry rooms (one per unit) were right next to the showers and bathrooms (easier for chores to be done).
    
      Powerful ventilation systems (easily replaceable) sucked air from the kitchens to minimize that oily stench from stir-frying; instead of using a wooden frame, I had contractors replace them with light steel; the garage (lowest floor) was a metal cage (Janet and Rachelle found something in common in hating that garage since there was no cellphone reception); a new concrete floor was poured around steel girders driven about ten feet underground into the bedrock underneath; and there was a pretty good business sized elevator (holding eight 250 lbs. adults or approximately one ton) in addition to the interior staircase.
    
      That certainly helped on moving day. Moving day though, was still a year off (most of the interior finishing wasn't completed until 2002). I was marking up bits and pieces as individual contractors began reporting directly to me. For my first project, I was an ambitious little s.o.b.
    
      Of course, financing was a nightmare. There was almost no way I would get a good deal on a mortgage period. 15% (it was 14.48, but I might as well have bent over and let the bank fuck my ass without lubrication) for 45 years (fixed) was the standing offer, which resulted in a monthly payment of about $9,500. And that was before property tax and utilities.
    
      Of course, I was earning about $95,000 as a CAD draftsman. No way I could (on paper) that I could cover all that without a little financial fiddling and revealing I was working with the NSA. My parents (had they found out then) would've hit the roof, so I kept them in the dark until everything was done.
    
      That's half the story anyway. The property itself was a lot less than three million (roughly half, say). Only because I wanted to do a rebuild was the cost so exorbitant. Since the contractors I was working with were semi-shady, they were under-writing some of the costs. One good thing about cash and knowing what we were doing meant the guys were getting paid a shade less than normal jobs (saving me money) but that also meant they were paying less to the IRS.
    
      I wondered though, if Cox or someone else at the agency would catch me on a RICO indictment and prosecute my ass. That or simply leverage it against me down the road. Tseng likely knew what to do; if not, he'd know who to tap on the shoulder to assist me. But I was wary. Tseng had demonstrated he was not to be fucked with. How much information did I risk sharing with him that it wouldn't come back to haunt me? I was so wrapped up in thought, I was barely aware of the naked tits and asses gyrating before me.
    
      "Sh-tan-ley my friend," Faraz slapped me heartily on the back. "You must enjoy the delights Allah has wisely given us men!"
    
      "Sorry." I shot him an apologetic grin. "My mind was elsewhere."
    
      "This man," my old chum roared above the din of the music, "Is what Americans call the 'straight man'. I have learned so much from him, that's why he's now also my, uh --"
    
      "Best man," I suggested.
    
      "Yes!!" Faraz speech was nearly slurred.
    
      "Here! Here!" someone yelled.
    
      Several of Faraz's friends from the stock exchange, some friends from college, and I were there for his bachelor's party. I had to hand it to him -- for a guy who never drank and who was going on his first bender, Faraz sure had tolerance for alcohol. I sipped my own drink, water with no ice, and coolly regarded the rest of the customers in the neon lit place.
    
      I reserved a private room at a casino hotel, hoping things would be contained therein. But the party soon got underway and we called up a limo (on short notice) and headed to a nearby strip club. I knew Faraz loved Ghandia, but having lived in the United States for so long, he had developed a taste for some of the more unsavory aspects of living.
    
      While he still abstained from pork, Faraz did start screwing around and drinking (though not necessarily in that order). Ghandia was hardly in a position to chastise him, principally because Faraz was careful. The other reason was I never bothered to tell her about it. Their business was strictly their business; I wanted nothing to do with it.
    
      Faraz was now dancing rather closely with two nude girls at the club. From the collective dough all of us chipped in, the club owner was kind enough to give us a private booth, complete with a trickle of different girls. These girls were physically pretty; they could've given Viktoriya a run for her money, but they were all damaged goods.
    
      I sensed the mad desperation, the fear, and sly caution they had as they regarded most of our party with wary, hungry looks. Most of Faraz's band were Caucasian or something so mixed they appeared white. Faraz was probably the only Iraqi guy there, who along with the one Indian guy (a systems analyst I think), looked pretty much the same to the club's girls. I was the only Mongoloid in the group.
    
      I was one of the few to keep my senses, but a few of them tried their charms on me. "Wanna a lap dance?" "Buy me a drink, handsome?" "Wanna see a private show?"
    
      I passed on all but the offers of buying them drinks. I suppose I could've given them any amount of money (well, as much as I could afford at the time) but I didn't need to get myself into more trouble. Finally, I grew annoyed enough that I passed each girl $50 (totaling about a grand) to leave me the fuck alone.
    
      "Entertain him," I pointed to Faraz, "He's the one getting married."
    
      So a gaggle of twenty-some girls pretty much descended on my old friend. I sensed for a minute he thought he was in paradise, only with twenty-some odd whores. Wouldn't Ghandia be proud? And on that note, thoughts of Ghandia brought up other unpleasant memories. I soured as I mulled over Rachelle.
    
      Since my flight was going to be in the late evening tomorrow, I decided to cut out a little early. Leaving Faraz in capable hands, I stepped out and took a cab back to the casino. Rattling some loose change as I stepped into the casino floor, I looked at my watch and decided to have a quick go at the slots. The older mechanical slots were easier to manipulate (assuming one knew what to push). This was before video slots really took off. After a few minutes of whirling and experimentation, I amassed a small bucket of change. Enough to cover the cab ride several times over, but definitely not what I had spent at the strip club.
    
      I got up and wondered how far I could push it. I sauntered over to the cashier and changed my bucket of winnings for a few crisp bills. I wandered the casino floor, looking for a game of chance that I could exploit. Something that was less mechanical and more "human". Ever play poker with a telepath?  Here's a pro-tip: I wouldn't recommend it unless you're playing for peanuts (if you're allergic to peanuts then M&Ms or jelly beans).
    
      I didn't jump into Texas Hold'em; there was too much chance that the next two cards drawn would screw with me. My skill in biointroscopy (perception through skin) was developed enough that I could physically "read" surfaces, but it took a little while to get to all the cards. I was also able to use remote viewing (I called it detached mind-sight since I simply piggybacked on a 'normal's' own vision) but to forestall someone from detecting me, I had to do that slowly and carefully. With the dealer moving so quickly, I wouldn't have been able to keep up.
    
      Blackjack was too mechanical (as was Pai-Gow), relying more on counting cards than mind-reading. I could cheat at roulette and craps since the physical aspects were easy to manipulate, but it would be too obvious if the ball (or dice) came up on double-zero (or boxcars) more than six times in a row. Draw poker though, seemed reasonably fine. I took a vacancy at a medium sized table and started to play. About ten minutes in, I had effectively doubled my original earnings through a mix of card-reading, mind-reading, and sensible bets. I didn't need to see my opponents to know what they were holding.
    
      The pit-boss was most likely less than happy. He was probably less happy even after the dealer was changed (twice) and my winnings hardly diminished. As the pile around me slowly grew, I kept my mind sharp by pinging the people around me to see if they worked for the casino. I also kept my own face wooden and impassive, and focused my physical gaze on either the pot on the table or the cards in my hand.
    
      "Free drink sir?" a pretty bar girl came up to me and placed an open glass of something vile next to me.
    
      "Sure. Bottled water please."
    
      "We don't serve bottled water, sir," the girl's voice barely registered as I shifted focus on my opponents.
    
      "Then no thanks," I waved her off and folded just in time. Another player had the makings of a Straight Flush. So instead of losing $500, I lost only $15. I quickly won back my bet though. My four-of-a-kind killed the competition after several raises.
    
      "You play a mean game handsome," a sultry sonorous voice spoke next to me.
    
      "You're welcome to join in," I dared a sideways glance.
    
      The woman was about my height (roughly 5'-8/9" or 174 cm) but that was probably because she was wearing high heels. Her dark black hair fell in a loose, voluminous cascade over a bare shoulder. A thin silver necklace sparkled on her olive skin. Her face wasn't wide but her smile was (as was her curves). A small black beauty mark graced her cheeks, just to the side of her lips. Her gaze was polite, but her eyes and her thoughts bespoke of a troubling past.
    
      "I would, except for one thing." She gave me a smile but upturned her hand so her palms faced up. "You cleaned me out about six hands ago."
    
      "Ah sorry." I muster a small grin. "I'd offer to share a ride, but I'm staying at the hotel here."
    
      "Oh," her eyes dipped a bit but her gaze held firm.
    
      Damn, I thought. She's had practice. Probably a damn professional.
    
      "That's okay," she tilted her head, "Maybe next time?"
    
      I was about to reply when the dealer broke-in. "Hey buddy, you want in or what?"
    
      I glanced at my hand and then I closed my eyes. Nevermind the pot or the cards dealt; I had gotten my fill. I opted out.
    
      "I'm out. If you don't mind," I asked the dealer, "May I exchange all of my smaller chips for one or two of the larger ones? It's a little too much to carry to the cashier."
    
      The dealer's eyes flicked to the side. It was one of the casino toughs sent out by the pit-boss. Too late now sucker. I looked around for the woman, but she was nowhere in sight. Damn. I guess I couldn't be THAT lucky.
    
      "Ah sir, let me help you with that," a thin pasty fellow came up with a nondescript opaque plastic box. The crowd stepped back as the chips were scooped and pushed into the lidded box.
    
      "Here you go, sir." The fellow handed the box to me and motioned to two toughs waiting on the side.
    
      "What's with them?" I jerked my thumb towards one of the toughs.
    
      "Security," the thin man said, "You're carrying around nearly a quarter million dollars in chips, you know."
    
      "I didn't bother to count," I shrugged. Security? Bull. Shit. I knew full well where they were escorting me: not to the cashier, but the pit-boss.
    
      "I know you were counting cards," the portly man growled once I was in the office. "But goddamn, I never figured you'd be that stupid."
    
      "Or I played smart." I gave him a disarming grin. "Ever think of that?"
    
      "Where're you from kid?" the pit-boss rasped as he lit a cigar.
    
      "San Francisco," I replied truthfully.
    
      "Green queens and queer queers," he laughed, "Oh, the boss is gonna laugh at this one."
    
      "May I go now?" I said pleasantly.
    
      "Sure, sure," the man tapped the box full of chips, "But take some sound advice: don't ever show your face on the floor again."
    
      "What if I need to use the bathroom?" I quipped.
    
      The pit-boss scowled, "Don't be smart-ass. Now get outta here."
    
      "My money," I said plainly, "Cash will do."
    
      "You're kidding me right?" the man regarded me with smug amusement, "You were counting cards. That's cheating in my book."
    
      "Have you proof I was?" I asked. I sensed the tension in the room and braced myself. Things were going to get ugly.
    
      "Warren," the pit-boss gestured, "Get this guy outta here."
    
      "With pleasure." One of the toughs stepped towards me. When I didn't step-back as expected, he grabbed me by the shirt.
    
      Big mistake. My hand was on him instantly, and I had him "help" me. The tough named Warren quickly made a fist with his other hand and backfisted the pit-boss across the face. The other guard was so startled, he barely had time to reach for his weapon when I telekinetically lifted my body, using the first tough's grip as an anchor, and kicked the side of the second tough's head with a "telekinetically shrouded" foot -- it appeared like I'd kicked him, but it was the blunt force of my telekinesis that struck him. My foot was simply a point of focus for my mind. The second tough spun and fell over in a heap.
    
      I grabbed the big man still holding me and fried his synapses. I simply used the current chaos of the office, plus his unexpected attack on his nominal superior as the backdrop; with my gifts so potent now, I had to hold back to avoid giving the man a fatal stroke. Warren the bouncer fell over like a sack of dead weight, his look of surprise still on his face. I stepped over to where the pit-boss lay. The old man's eyes were glazed over from the blow. I sensed he contemplated reaching for his gun.
    
      "Stop," I intoned coldly, my concentration focused wholly on him. "Remain still. Do not move until I move you."
    
      The broken cigar dropped from his mouth. He remained where he was until I dragged him up and threw him roughly into his swivel chair. I placed the box of chips on the desk before him.
    
      "I won this from this casino, understand?" I stared at him, "Look at me."
    
      "Y--yea," the man was too dazed to be persuaded in my normal tone. I had to be a little more aggressive.
    
      "Look at me and listen," I said in a firmer tone. "You will give me the combination to the safe, do you understand?"
    
      "Y--yea," he repeated dumbly.
    
      "Look at me and listen," I repeated, "You decided to cut me a deal. I will never come back and gamble here and you let me keep my winnings, understand?"
    
      "Yea," the pit-boss nodded, his body swaying unsteadily.
    
      I didn't bother with the safe combination. I simply synchronized all the tumblers in the safe door and it swung open (the pit-boss was facing the wall as he recited the numbers). I counted out the winnings I had, something close to a quarter million, and took that exact amount. Compared to the amounts Tseng and I had dealt with on the border, this was chump change.
    
      So how does one walk out with more than two thousand hundred dollar bills after having beat up a crooked pit-boss and his crew? Simple. They actually had briefcases for this stuff in the office. There was also a bin of rubberbands on the desk. I used telekinesis to slip the money bands off, and wrapped the bills with rubberbands. Once I was done, I closed the briefcase, and making sure I didn't leave prints on it (easy if you know how to mix telekinesis with a little acting) and I headed back up to my room.
    
      All that of course, was after I fried the pit-boss's brain before leaving his office. I went further on the other toughs; they were not part of my plan. Everything that they remembered in the past four hours, all short-term memory, I forcibly blanked out. The effect was like a concussion but a little more severe. Only the pit-boss would remember what I told him. Hopefully, that was all I needed to do. The only cameras I noticed were in the hallway. There were no cameras in the pit-boss' office.
    
      Understandably, the management wouldn't want me to stay now. I grabbed the my all-important carry-on travel bag and emptied the money into it. The briefcase I left in the room. I suspected they had a tracking device in it. Unfortunately, my DNA was everywhere in the room, but earnestly there was little I could do apart from taking the few towels I had used; I couldn't take the bedsheets or pillow cases. I hung a MAID REQUEST on the door knob and hoped that room service would take care of things before someone else did. I hustled back to the lobby and turned in my keycard.
    
      "You're checking out now?" the receptionist blinked.
    
      "Family emergency," I lied, "I have to get back home now."
    
      "Oh okay," the clerk typed in a few things, "Er room 2150? It'll be $457.90."
    
      "Here," I slipped five hundred dollar bills I had justifiably earned (or if you prefer, taken) from the pit-boss' safe and waved off the change.
    
      "Keep the change," I said, "Great service."
    
      "Oh really?" the guy blinked, "Thanks!"
    
      I stepped out into the street and bumped into the woman from the poker table again. The leggy Asian hottie was by the curbside, waiting for a cab.
    
      "Leaving so soon?" she asked.
    
      "You again!" I flashed her a smile despite my predicament. "Well, the management didn't take it so well. I can't go back in anymore."
    
      "That's a shame." The sultry beauty smiled back, but kept her distance. "Where're you going to stay?"
    
      "Should be vacancies somewhere," I shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm not worried. If worse comes to worse, I can just take a flight home. How about you?"
    
      "Oh, I'm just going to hail a cab," she said. I glanced at her. Something about her seemed oddly familiar.
    
      "I thought I cleaned you out," I said slowly.
    
      "Not everything. I always withhold betting my cab fare," she said as a slow grin crossed her face.
    
      "You're a smart one." I grinned back. "At least let me get your cab ride; it's the least I could do."
    
      Actually, I thought wryly, the least I could do is fuck you six days from Sunday and then leave you in a state of embarrassing pregnancy.
    
      The young woman blushed, her face expressed every conceivable emotion and reaction to the possibilities and motives I might've had. Guys don't offer rides to girls unless they wanted something. Heh-heh-heh.
    
      "I can't do that," she said shyly, "I mean you did win fair and square."
    
      Yeah right, I felt a mild pang of guilt.
    
      "Yeah, but I don't mind," I said graciously, "I'm sorry I didn't catch your name. My name's Stanley."
    
      "Jamie," she extended her hand. The name sounded familiar. I shook her hand and it came back in a flash.
    
      "Jamie Young?" I blurted.
    
      The woman blinked and withdrew her hand as if she had been burned by fire.
    
      "How'd you --?"
    
      "It's me," I waved meekly, "Rubenstein's journalism class back in high school, remember?"
    
      Jamie took a measured step back, her face went from surprise, to shock, and then to joy. As quickly as that came, it left and was replaced by sadness and gloom.
    
      "Oh, of course I remember now," her eyes zipped over me from head to toe. "God, that brings back memories. You were the guy dating Rachelle, right?"
    
      "I was?" I laughed, "I guess we couldn't have kept a worse-kept secret."
    
      "Secret?" Jamie smiled showing her neat pearly white teeth. "I don't know who told you it was a secret, it was regular gossip."
    
      "Oh," was all I could say. My expression must've struck her as funny, because she smiled and laughed.
    
      "So, new to Vegas?" my old classmate asked.
    
      "Just here for a friend," I said, "He's getting married next month."
    
      "Not here I hope?" Jamie smiled and laughed again. "He could've done all that in the next ten minutes!"
    
      "Um, no." I grinned back, admiring the glitter on her shoulders and cheeks. "Hey, do you have someplace to go? We should catch up a bit."
    
      "Well maybe." She bit her lip for moment before answering. "Tomorrow is Saturday right?"
    
      "Yeah," I glanced at my watch. "Well, it is Saturday ... now."
    
      "Oh, right," she was coy. "Okay sure. Why not?"
    
      We took a cab ride down the strip then over to a non-descript apartment complex.
    
      "This looks interesting," I murmured as I stepped out, "Nothing flashy. But I like it."
    
      "Thanks," she whispered, "I live here."
    
      "Whoa," I was a little surprised. "Are you sure?"
    
      "You're just going to crash right? It's fine."
    
      Jamie turned on the hall-light to reveal a small, tiny room in the complex. It wasn't dingy, but it was small and cramped. Somehow, it reminded me of my room, and how it too, felt small and cramped, especially when my darlings would come by and visit.
    
      "Quiet, okay?" she closed the door softly behind me. "Try not to make a lot of noise."
    
      "Your boyfriend home?" I asked with bravado. Jamie shook her head but put her fingers to her lips. I acquiesced and tip-toed to the sofa. I suppose I could crash here until my flight. I'd just be sleeping.
    
      "Want a drink?" she asked.
    
      I could see her dark head of hair from the couch. Whatever she was doing was blocked by the countertop.
    
      "Thank you but no. I'm fine." I put my overnight bag to the side of the couch. Nearly a quarter million bucks. I suppose I could use it for spare change somewhere. The next phase in the project wouldn't be for a while.
    
      "Well, I like this stuff," Jamie put a small bottle on the small table in the living room.
    
      White rice wine, I read the label. Great.
    
      "You don't drink do you?" she came back with two glasses, one filled with water.
    
      "I drive a lot," I said, "And I can't really hold my liquor."
    
      "That's very responsible," Jamie sat next to me, "So tell me, what's been up with you, oh for say, the last seven years?"
    
      So we talked. I told her about my major and my career (architecture, not the agency) and spoke briefly about visiting places like Hong Kong, Shek-Kou (the podunk town Aurora and I toured), New York City, Sherwood, and Tijuana. I skipped over Mexicali and Tecate; murder wasn't a particularly romantic topic of conversation.
    
      "Oh wow," she took a small sip, "So, do you travel a lot for your job?"
    
      "I wish, but no. Plans just get sent to me by e-mail or FTP (file transfer protocol)." I gave her a rueful grin. "I live a pretty boring life in that office."
    
      "Oh well," Jamie sighed, "At least you're doing well."
    
      I raised a brow. I had delicately picked through what thoughts I could about my old school chum without rousing suspicion, but I wasn't prepared for the next shock.
    
      "Mommy?"
    
      I swear, if I hadn't been in full possession of my mind, I probably would've bolted right out that door.
    
      "Crap," the young woman quickly set down her drink. "Mommy's here."
    
      Mommy? Hot damn. I felt the growing presence of a small girl. Her thoughts were a haze of confusion and blurry visuals. Was it near-sightedness? I focused a little more. No, didn't seem like it. I stood and walked over to the kid.
    
      "Hey kiddo," I squatted and smiled. "What's your name? My name is Stanley."
    
      Jamie smiled nervously as I shook the girl's hand. She was wearing a t-shirt and worn pajamas, and she was carrying a small stuffed pony. The girl was so distracted and her thoughts everywhere, I could barely get a bearing on what she was focusing on.
    
      "C'mon Jill," Jamie grunted from the weight of the kid. "Back to bed."
    
      I headed back to the couch and sat, wondering if I should stay or go. I unzipped the overnight bag and grabbed some loose bills, about a thousand (give or take) and tucked it neatly in my pants pocket. If she was what I think she was, then it would be rotten of me to take advantage of her. I zipped the bag back up as Jamie stepped back out from the other room.
    
      "I didn't know you were married," I said slowly, "I promise I'll be out of here before he comes back."
    
      "He's never coming back," she sat down on the couch in a huff. "I'm sorry about Jillian. She's still young."
    
      "That's all right," I said softly. "How old is she? Five?"
    
      "You've got a good eye," Jamie wore a weak smile. "She'll be five in a month."
    
      I nodded and did some math. She and I were the same year (we were in the same graduating class). I would be 25 in September of this year. That would mean -- wow. I set my glass down and eyed her with a shit-faced grin as she started talking.
    
      "For a minute," I studied her, "I thought she was your sister or a niece."
    
      Jamie blushed then explained her situation. She had gotten 'in trouble' (as the saying went) and fell in with progressively more Bohemian crowd after Howard's death. She fell in love, "Or thought I did," Jamie said with a pained laugh, with an ass-clown nearly twice her age. He fucked her rotten all right. Then he left when she started throwing up. Her family had disowned her for her wayward lifestyle and she was miles away from anyone she knew. When all seemed lost, she caught the eye of one Joseph (Joey to insiders) Pincelli.
    
      "He took care of me and Jill," Jamie sighed, "And I basically work the casino floor. Hit up high-rollers. Distract them. Keep 'em from winning."
    
      Sure you do, I thought darkly. She was only telling part of the truth. I had an idea of what else she did but said nothing on the subject.
    
      "High rollers like me?" I grinned sardonically.
    
      "Not like you," she blushed, "You're like that cool but geeky guy girls love."
    
      "Well in my defence," I said, "I do like Star Trek."
    
      "The original series?" Jamie seemed to perk up.
    
      "Heck no," I laughed softly, "The next generation. Captain Picard rocks."
    
      "Me too!" Her cheeks dimpled as she grinned. "Hey, did you know there's going to be a Deep Space Nine theme casino soon?"
    
      "Oh man," I flashed her a big smile, "We gotta go. You'd look great in a uniform from any era."
    
      Jamie blushed. I could see her face, neck, palms and thighs reddening slightly.
    
      "So, do you have kids?" she cleared the throat a bit and changed the subject.
    
      "Nope," I shook my head, "I'm still the kid I guess."
    
      "Oh, don't say that," she murmured, "We're the same age and all."
    
      "Yeah," I knitted my brow.
    
      Jamie brought up a mix of memories, both good and bad. My days back in school, splitting my time between Rachelle and Shawn while dodging the pedobear stigma with Melanie while juggling my lovely Janet by phone -- all while Viktoriya was watching in the distance (and probably masturbating to the thought). I found myself feeling guilty about contributing to Jamie's plight, and I felt there was something I wanted to get off of my chest for a while.
    
      "About Howard," I started slowly. "I never got to say I'm sorry."
    
      "It's in the past," Jamie said quietly, "Why bring it up?"
    
      Because if he hadn't died, maybe you wouldn't have become a Mafia boss's whore, I thought. But I elected to go with a more diplomatic answer.
    
      "I never should've touched him. I think he bled to death because of me."
    
      "No. No, Stanley," she closed her eyes, "Don't say that. You were the only person there who tried to help."
    
      "But I couldn't," I felt her anguish and mine coming together. "It's my fault. I'm sorry Jamie."
    
      "I don't to talk about it," she opened her eyes again. There were dark rings around her eyes where her tears marred her mascara.
    
      "All right," I took her hand and squeezed it.
    
      I sensed Jamie's inner turmoil and carefully analyzed her psyche. Over the years, I found 'normals' and 'citizens' found different ways of coping with grief, tragedy, and anguish. The only difference was that a citizen of the invisible empire would be able to act out his or her manifestations in ways that would endanger more people.
    
      Jamie resorted to self-destructive behavior. Once she lost herself into a binge, she'd latch onto some weak emotional bond with a male benefactor. It would work for a little while then she'd sabotage it. She didn't consciously know why, but I did: she blamed herself for Howard's death. Her unconsciousness came through and punished her by having her destroy her relationships and her life. This she willingly accepted like a well-deserved punishment.
    
      Still, I felt she had a strong sense of duty to her daughter Jillian; her relationship with Joey Pincelli was something she could live with so long as it kept mother and child off the streets. This was getting sad.
    
      "Stanley?"
    
      "Yeah?" I blinked, my mind a little woozy from lack of sleep.
    
      "It's late," Jamie yawned, "I got to get up later and do some shopping before I go to work, so I'm going to turn in okay?"
    
      "Sure," I let her hand slip from mine, "Good night."
    
      "Good night."
    
      She slipped back into the room. I lay on the sofa for a bit, thoughts a whirl in my head. I fell asleep, wondering what I had gotten myself into.
    
    ===============================================================================
      FIRST CLASS SERVICE
    ===============================================================================
    
      I'm sure many of you have been to Las Vegas. The glitz and glamor on the strip are missing from the area where the support staff live. It's like living in the servants' quarters of a castle. Unglamorous, and definitely requiring a little more luster. I jerked awake and found myself staring at the dusty ceiling of a strange apartment. The sunlight streaming into the room was a dim red glow.
    
      Right, I slowly realized. Jamie's apartment. My old classmate ...
    
      In the light of day, the place looked a little more dumpy than I first realized. Stains were on the carpeting and walls, and there were a small stack of dirty dishes and bowls in the sink. The air was dusty too. It was a chemical suspension of desert sand, dust, and god knows what else. At least she didn't have a pet. I rose and used the restroom. My clothes were generally clean and I used the hotel towels to dry myself. I checked my watch. Almost 4 P.M.
    
      Man, I thought. Must've slept in late. As I opened the door and stepped out from the bathroom refreshed and re-dressed, the door bumped into something. I heard a soft cry as I pulled the door back a bit.
    
      "Oh sorry," I peeked past the door.
    
      In the gloom of the apartment, I saw Jamie's daughter Jillian was on the carpet, hands covering her forehead and whimpering.
    
      "You all right?" I knelt beside her.
    
      I gently pulled her arm away and saw a knob shaped bruise on her temple. Had I swung the door open any more forcefully, I probably would've injured her more. Ouch. She whimpered more as I tapped her bruise slightly. Good, I thought with relief. There wasn't any physical nerve damage, just mild bruising.
    
      I helped her up and asked, "Where's your mom?"
    
      "Mommy's at 'woirk'," came her reply.
    
      "I see." I picked her up easily and sat her on the cleanest part of the kitchen counter I could find. Jamie at work. That meant she was probably back at the casino or something.
    
      This was sad, I thought. What kind of woman leaves her own daughter home alone (well, home alone with a strange man) and leaves for work? That was simply a kind of desperation I'd seen on the border and in the poorer neighborhoods of Mexico. But here? To citizens in the United States? I found the whole situation utterly abhorrent.
    
      "Don' be zad mizter," Jillian spoke with a lisp and in baby English, "Mommy zed you ken weed her letta'."
    
      I never tried to mind-read anyone younger than Melanie (my brother Andrew didn't really count; all he thought about was anime, videogames, pornography, and girls, so in a way, we were thinking alike) and she wasn't coming through clearly despite her gift. I suspected why I couldn't get a clear stream of thought from Jillian was because of her age. Her thought pattern hadn't "stabilized" like that of older children. In that way, she was earnestly a child.
    
      Still, Jillian had the occasional thought I could decipher: her mother was Jamie; she'd see her in the mornings but rarely in the evenings; her mother would come back very late and Jill would hear her crying. All in all, it was pretty sad psychic panoramic. I found the note Jill referred to pinned to the fridge by an old magnet. It read:
    
      HI STANLEY. BY THE TIME YOU READ THIS I'LL
      BE AT WORK. PLEASE DON'T JUDGE ME BUT I
      WROTE DOWN YOUR NAME AND ADDRESS JUST IN
      CASE.
    
      IT'S JUST A PRECAUTION BECAUSE I LEAVE JILL
      HOME ALONE AND SHE IS EVERYTHING TO ME. I'M
      SORRY YOU FELT GUILTY ABOUT HOWARD BUT IT
      WAS MY FAULT NOT YOURS. I GUESS I'LL NEVER
      BE FREE OF THIS UNTIL THE DAY I DIE.
    
      IT WAS GOOD TO CATCH UP ON OLD TIMES. IF I
      KNEW YOU WERE SUCH A TREK NERD I WOULD'VE
      ASKED YOU OUT BACK THEN.
    
      IF YOU DON'T KIDNAP JILL, PLEASE WRITE TO
      ME WHEN YOU GET HOME. HAVE A SAFE FLIGHT.
    
      JAMIE.
    
      I crushed the note and tossed in the trash. I opened the fridge and found it bare save for some plastic bowls of macaroni and what appeared to be meatballs. There were a few of them, each labeled with a different post-it note: Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, etc. I shot an appalled glance at Jillian and closed the refrigerator door in disgust.
    
      I had a flight in about three hours but I decided there I could do something altruistic. In hindsight, I probably should've left, but I wondered what would have happened if I did. It's something I try not to ponder about too often now.
    
      I surveyed the apartment and wondered what to do first. Jill was still dressed like the night before: t-shirt and worn PJs. I caught the smell of soap and shampoo on her though, so at least she was cleaned. I rummaged through the dressers in the bedroom and found something that passed for OshKosh overalls (they were some generic brand made in China) and some sandals that barely fit the little girl.
    
      After dressing her, I unzipped my overnight bag and organized some bills. I took what I anticipated I needed then hid the bag between the couch and the wall. I unfolded Jamie's note and penned on its back:
    
      HI JAMIE. TOOK JILL TO THE MALL TO GET SOME
      THINGS. BACK IN TWO HOURS TOPS. STAY SAFE.
      STANLEY.
    
      I left my mobile phone number past my signature (which turned out to be a really bad idea) and posted it to the fridge.
    
      "C'mon," I said to Jill, "We're going to go shopping."
    
      The cab ride took a little longer than I wanted, but we got to the mall an hour or so before the stores started closing. I bought what I could anticipate the two needed: sturdy new clothes, shoes, socks, undergarments (I guessed as best I could), detergent and disinfectant, towels and rags, toilet paper, etc. Stuff what most households needed.
    
      The second cabbie was less than thrilled he had to make a pit stop for groceries after his vehicle was loaded to the brim, but the fat $200 tip he got pretty much made him more enthusiastic. He even helped me carry most of the stuff back to Jamie's place. My note to Jamie was still there, untouched and unread, so I crumpled it and tossed it into the trash.
    
      That done, I tasked Jillian with some chores: "Put that there," "Bring these things here," "Help me hold this," and all that jazz. Things that Jamie had, I didn't touch. But where there was storage space, I stocked her larder with some helpful goodies (after I had cleaned it with damp rags and soap).
    
      Jill was probably unused to the amount of activity; she went about her initial tasks enthusiastically at first then waned as the physical exertion took its toll. By then, between my telekinesis and demonic drive, I had pretty much cleaned the place up. Laundry was done, there were fresh towels on the racks, sheets on the bed, and the kitchen was cleaned and ready for business. I stood back and admired the effort. My little Lady Chen would've been proud if she knew I worked with this much zeal.
    
      "A'hm tiwerd Unco Zan'wee," Jillian slouched against the foot of the couch.
    
      I'd seen this before. Despite her zest for cleanliness now, Yu-Ching had whined and goofed off around my room when she was younger. I tolerated it to a point but as she grew older, I forbade it and encouraged her to develop a strong work ethic. How she had grown! Now little Jillian was nearing that impressionable age. I had no intention of sleeping with her (that'd be sick) but I didn't want her growing up into a fuck-up. I blamed myself for starting Jamie down that road. I knew it may be impossible to wholly rehabilitate the mother, but her daughter still had a chance.
    
      "Your mother is just as tired trying to take care of you," I admonished sternly, "Now please come here. You're going to help me cook for mommy."
    
      Jill whined audibly, but she tottered over to the kitchen. I found an old footstool in the closet and set it right next to the counter. I showed the little five year old how to wash her hands, how to clean vegetables (leaves and stalks), what chicken bouillon was, and taught her how to manage the fire on the stove.
    
      "But won' fiur-men come?" there was concern in her tone, "A'hm not s'posed to pway wif' it. Mommy zed zo!"
    
      "Everything can be dangerous if not used correctly," I explained slowly, "Do you like candy?"
    
      "Yea!" Jill nodded her head excitedly.
    
      "Well if you eat too much," I tapped her chin, "The sweet sugar can cause your teeth to crumble. But some candy is okay."
    
      "W'eally?" her eyes were wide.
    
      "Yes, really," I measured my words. "The fire here on the stove is good for cooking. It's how your mommy cooks macaroni for you."
    
      Not really, I thought. Jamie's microwave had been something from a Mr. Clean nightmare. But for sake of simplicity, it was all I had to go on.
    
      "Mac n'cheez!" Jill said happily.
    
      I grinned, patted her head, and continued: "But you cannot leave the fire on too long. If you do, you will burn things up and the firemen will come, understand?"
    
      Jill nodded, but I sensed she was confused how long was "too long".
    
      "Now this," I started answering her curiosity, "Is how you tell the fire is too long."
    
      I instructed her to look at the clock and the size of the fire. Every five minutes, she was to check for "bad things" burning (stuff that shouldn't be on fire). I lit a match then extinguished it quickly with a stream of water and bade her to smell the sulfur. That was burning (or something close to it). Jillian sneezed and nodded.
    
      After cooking, I went through and taught as much as she could take in: from food preparation (wash it all) to cold storage (seal it or it'll dehydrate). Don't underestimate the undying curiosity of five year-olds: they can be quite rapacious for knowledge. She barely shut-up enough to finish her dinner, but she finished anyway.
    
      By the time she was ready for bed, I was pretty exhausted myself. As Jill brushed her teeth, I went down a mental checklist for stuff going on in my life: None of the girls were expecting me to be back until Monday. Or Tuesday. Since Shawn had left for Tokyo earlier than expected -- something about a fresh lease and learning more of the language -- dinner gatherings were more subdued and quiet.
    
      Janet and Melanie had few things in common due to their age gap. Where my lovely Lady Wu was a moderate conservative, little Lady Chen was a hard-line progressive and often took up causes just on a whim. While I could understand it was Melanie's impassioned empathy that made her do such things, Janet thought she did so just to spite her.
    
      The after-dinner conversations became more like arguments (or shouting matches). They were rife about politics and society, two topics I personally detested talking about publicly, let alone sharing. Despite the angry words they'd sometimes exchange, Janet and Melanie respected one another. It's one thing to have spirited opposition and quite another to expressly hate someone for their political views. But that didn't mean I enjoyed being there while it happened.
    
      Thus, while my two elegant ladies would argue in the inner room, I'd withdraw to the outer room (the studio) and either get ahead of some projects at work, or work on my own project at home. Without Shawn, I felt a little lonely while at my station. I suspected her parents had been behind the push to get their daughter out of the country and away from my grubby clutches as soon as possible.
    
      I checked in Viktoriya on a daily basis. Between her, my at-home darlings, emailing Rachelle, Shawn, and Aurora, I nearly forgot all about Phillipa, whose emails I'd answer last. Seven girls. Good lord. So what the hell was I doing at Jamie's? Eight might be enough. I snickered at the bad sit-com joke as I took Jillian to the bedroom and put her to bed.
    
      Mother and daughter shared a single queen-sized bed. The sheets were clean but they smelled of having been slept on for some time (months perhaps). I managed to get them laundered in time for bedtime. I tucked her in just as my mobile phone rang. I put it to silent, told Jillian good night, and then headed outside.
    
      "Stanley?" Faraz buzzed, "Where did you go my friend? You missed the best girls!"
    
      "Had to take off a little early," I said. "Work thing. Sorry."
    
      Good thing Faraz was calling my mobile number. Had he rang the casino where I was staying, it might've been bad news.
    
      "Oh okay," he laughed nervously, "You sure you're not telling Ghandia about the club, no?"
    
      "No, not me," I had to laugh, "Of course, if you make it big in New York, I might hit you up for some cash or I leak the pictures: Iraqi Stock Trader Spends Millions On Strippers!"
    
      Faraz and I both shared a hearty laugh. We then wound up talking about his wedding (it was going to be in Santa Monica) for the next twenty or so minutes. At the end of the conversation, he passed off something he had heard.
    
      "It's Rachelle," Faraz said in a hushed voice, "Have you written her lately?"
    
      "Frequently enough," I said, "Why?"
    
      "I think you should see her Stanley," he sounded thoughtful. "Ghandia says she's changed a lot and wondered what happened."
    
      "Is she sick?"
    
      "I don't think so," Faraz mused. "That's why I ask. Is she well?"
    
      "Nothing seems of the ordinary." I mentally flipped through the last few e-mails. Something about pets, her new job in TV production in Los Angeles, and talking about beaches (and lack of warm ones) in Northern California. All in all, pure Rachelle.
    
      "Well, okay," Faraz sighed, "I guess I will see you soon then."
    
      "Until August. Later friend."
    
      I hung up, and just in time too. As soon as I did, I sensed growing feelings of alarm and fear just past the apartment's front door. The lights in the apartment were off, save for the one lamp near the couch (that was towards the back of the unit). I stood up, mentally alert, and concentrated.
    
      I heard muffled voices past the door. I recognized one as Jamie's, but the other was obviously male and not known to me. The overall mental-image I got from him was an unsavory one, and he was getting agitated. The talk was growing louder and more heated. I sensed the violence behind the man's words. I strode towards the door, alert and ready for anything.
    
      "I said I want --!"
    
      The talk immediately ceased when the porch light turned on and I opened the front door. The man was certainly something. Very well built. Solid muscle. Square chin. Sharp cheek bones and a handsome but rugged face. White? Latino? I didn't know, or particularly care. He towered over me, but I had on the scowl of someone who wasn't to be trifled with.
    
      It was my "work scowl" (Melanie coined the term and she hated it when I made it) that I used to put off the likes of people I deal with on a professional level. Jamie was pressed against the wall and the man was definitely standing a little too close to her. I stood on the bottom jamb of the door and crossed my arms.
    
      "Hey Jamie," I looked between them, "Tough day?"
    
      "Ex--excuse me."
    
      Jamie broke away and slipped past me into the apartment. I saw a car, no doubt belonging to the man at the door, double-parked on the street in front. I quickly rifled through his mind to see what I could pick-up, but his surprise was so great, all I could see was my own face.
    
      What a gent, I thought sarcastically. The man backed away, hands at shoulder-level and his palms facing me. He turned around, headed back to his car and drove off.
    
      "Where's Jillian?" That was the first question that greeted me when I shut the door.
    
      "Asleep."
    
      I pointed towards the bedroom. I watched Jamie tip-toe into the dark room as I waited by the front door. My body may have stood at rigid attention, but my mind wasn't. I zeroed in on the blip that was the man and "marked" him for future convenience. I got something of a name: Marc Bruneschi; that, along with his specific pattern of thinking, was all I needed to pull from a crowd. I eased up as I felt his presence dim from the immediate area. I wondered where he'd go later though.
    
      "You're still here," Jamie whispered as she closed the bedroom door behind her. "What happened?"
    
      "I missed my flight," I gave her a wry grin.
    
      "I meant the shiner on her head," her voice rose defensively, "And what's with her new pajamas?"
    
      "Oh sorry about that," I put on an apologetic look. "She ran into a doorknob, so I brought her to the clinic out at the Westbrook Mall. The doctor said it was just a minor bump. Nothing to worry about."
    
      "Oh," Jamie went from angry to relieved instantly. "I'm sorry Stanley. I didn't mean to sound angry."
    
      "No, I'm sorry I didn't tell you," I said meekly, "Anyway, while we were there, I got you some stuff I think you can use."
    
      "Oh?" She regarded me warily as I took her by the hand.
    
      "Here, I'll show you."
    
      Jamie remained quiet and reserved as I showed her what stuff I had gone out and got. The new stuff, as I had said, I padded or added to her existing stash. Where I needed to move things, I let her know and showed her were I moved it.
    
      "Sorry if I seem a bit pushy," I ended lamely, "But I thought it was the least I could do since you put me up at your place."
    
      "Oh Stanley." Jamie's cheeks dimpled as she fidgeted nervously. "It's more than enough. You shouldn't have."
    
      "So you're not mad?" I managed a grin, "Oh good. Then here, you must be hungry. Jill cooked this."
    
      "What?" she blinked, "She's not supposed to touch the stove."
    
      "She's a smart girl like her mom," Jamie reddened as I went on. "Give her a few more lessons and she'll be manhandling a choy-dou* [* Cantonese: meat-cleaver.] like the best of us."
    
      "You're honestly too much," Jamie brushed her hair back coyly, "How can I ever thank you?"
    
      "Well, how about dinner?" I held a seat for her.
    
      The cluttered counter-top I had cleared and placed two sets of tableware. The seats were barstools she'd been using as furniture. Jamie blushed again and took up my offer.
    
    ===============================================================================
      BONE HER! BONE HER! BONE HER!
    ===============================================================================
    
      "So, dare I ask who was that guy?" I took her empty plates and immersed them in the sink.
    
      "Oh, he's nobody," Jamie said, "Don't worry about him. He's just someone who offered me a ride, with strings attached."
    
      "That sucks," I grabbed a dish-rag and wiped the counter-top of crumbs. I wanted to say more, like 'stop being a whore' but I found I couldn't. I didn't dare.
    
      Jamie sipped her rice wine and murmured, "Thank you Stanley, for everything."
    
      "Don't mention it," I tossed the rag into the sink and washed my hands, "I'd better go, see if there's a stand-by on the red-eye. I've imposed enough on you."
    
      "Oh, don't worry about it." She was in such a hurry to get up, she nearly tumbled to the floor. I reached out and caught her by her arms and saved her from a nasty scrape. Her skin felt warm and soft between my fingers. I sensed a spark of desire within her, and I responded the only way my kind could: psychically.
    
      Oops. I felt the familiar buzz of my id slowly penetrating Jamie's mind. I fought bravely, but it was impossible for me to completely ignore my own feelings at the moment. She was young, attractive, and had a pleasant and friendly demeanor. If Shawn, Rachelle, Melanie and my studies hadn't sucked up all my time back in high school, I might've noticed Jamie and hit her up, then tapped that ass.
    
      But that was then. This was now. Fearing I had pushed things too far, I immediately let her go once she was standing. Jamie was a little wobbly and knock-kneed, but that made her just more attractive. I couldn't keep my eyes off her as she stumbled over and collapsed into my arms.
    
      "Do you find me --" _hic_ "-- bee-you-ti-full?" she looked at me hopefully. I could smell her breath, but I sensed she wasn't drunk. In fact, I got a pretty clear idea what she wanted to do.
    
      Goddammit, I lamented. So much for self-control. If Janet ever found out, she was going to murder me.
    
      "Of course," I said and helped her to the living room, "You're very beautiful."
    
      "You're so sweet," her eyes seemed to well up, "I--I just want to thank you."
    
      Jamie pushed me on the couch and stood before me. She was wearing a strapless cocktail dress like she did the first night, but a lighter shade of blue. With one deft move, the young MILF slid the dress right off, revealing her firm, stacked body. The silvery necklace on her neck matched the one going around her waist. Her skin seemed to have been covered by sparkling dust. Parts of her body caught light in ways I'd never would've imagined; I was bewitched.
    
      Where she wanted my eyes, she'd have a slim piece of silvery metal to grab my attention. Hoop rings dangled from her ears and bits of glitter sparkled from her eyelashes. Jamie twirled slowly around and held up her lustrous dark hair to show off her body. Aside from Viktoriya, my other girls had pretty average bodies (Rachelle didn't count as I hadn't seen her in a while).
    
      In fact, Shawn probably had "more to love" as it were. Melanie was hot by the fact she was young; she still had a little more to go before I could appreciate her womanly curves. I couldn't imagine how'd any of them would look like in another few years. But Jamie ... NOW ... Holy. Shit.
    
      My jaw hit the floor as the leggy Asian beauty bent over while still in her street heels. I could see aside from her obscene taste in jewelry, she also had some tattoos. On her back, written vertically like a scroll, I made out the characters: Tian-ha-ping-oan*. [* Cantonese: Peace/tranquility under the heavens.] 
    
      The small black dragon tattoo on her calf flexed as she fought to maintain balance. Jamie looked back, saw me panting like a dog, and smiled broadly. She stood back up and straddled me.
    
      "Stanley," she whispered, "If you want me to stop, say it now."
    
      "Now why would I want that?" I asked.
    
      "Because you helped out so much today," she murmured pensively, "And because I don't want you to think I'm doing this because I'm a ..."
    
      Whore! I could've easily finished the thought for her, but I hushed her with a heart-felt embrace. She instinctively froze when I placed my hands on her back. I sensed she had bad experiences of being embraced before. I eased up on my grip and felt her relax. Jamie slowly became more comfortable as I caressed her tenderly. Alternating between my fingertips and the backs of my nails, I tickled and cajoled her sides, back, and what else I could touch.
    
      "Oh god," Jamie breathed, "That feels so good."
    
      "Want to take it further?" I asked. It was decent to ask first. Regardless, I doubted any 'normal' could resist once they exposed so much of their skin to me.
    
      "Uh-huh."
    
      She nodded and I lifted her easily using some clever telekinesis. Jamie's eyes grew wide; I had just demonstrated something that she didn't expect from my body type. I wanted to laugh. Oh, how we're slaves to what we can see (or think we can see)! Even citizens of the empire (i.e. me) are sometimes fooled. I suppose it was a good thing for Bethany, I mused. Her and her damn illusory faces.
    
      I put Jamie down on her old couch and marveled at the bared bush before me. None of my girls shaved there anymore. Viktoriya did a little only because she had to kick high while dancing but she left a small triangular patch so she could suffocate me when she sat on my face (it's always awesome when she did that, unless she forgot to wash after peeing). And since Melanie grew up, I hadn't seen bare bush for quite some time. Hence, this was quite a novelty for me.
    
      Jamie's fingers were wet with spit as she slid her fingers up and down her baby-smooth slice. I watched her face as she slowly worked herself open. Physically, Jamie reminded me of Janet, if just a little prettier and with a hotter body. None of the other girls (apart from Rachelle) had dared to ink, pierce, or otherwise defile their bodies (apart from ear piercings).
    
      I kissed Jamie full on the lips then bit her nipples gently. She gasped as I worked my way down south. I could hear her groan with pleasure, but mostly, I could 'hear' her thoughts: 'It's been so long since I felt like this.' 'He's so good.' 'He's probably married.' (sigh) 'I'm such fuck-up and he's such a nice guy.' 'How can I tell him I fuck whoever Joey sends me to?'
    
      The last thought gave me pause, but I hesitated only briefly as I picked the details from her mind. I ate her out as I sifted through my newly acquired intel. Joey Pincelli owned the casino I had stayed at. Pincelli was one of the last hold-outs of the old mob. Although young (at forty-something) he was still used to doing things like it was the 1970s or 1980s. The old mob was on its way out. The new mob (to use the term loosely) had come in and laundered money for organized crime.
    
      The old mob often mixed money laundering with certain "problematic" businesses like prostitution, sex-slavery, illegal drugs, and loan-sharking. The new mob focused principally on money laundering and gambling period; the seedier vices turned away customers who would be willing to dump money on the tables. Jamie was part of Pincelli's business strategy.
    
      Cute fuckable girls would be sent out as private dates and escorts, "on the house" to important clientele. Of course, Jamie was smart. Always packed protection (I wasn't referring to her illegal .32ACP either) and used it too. The guy she was with tonight though, Bruneschi, was special. A mob enforcer from New York.
    
      Jamie didn't know what he was exactly (just mob) but after a quickie hand-job, she decided she just didn't like the guy. Gave her the creeps, was the feeling I got. While he was copacetic with giving her a ride back, she certainly wasn't going to fuck him at her house. That was when things got rough, I suppose. I hadn't focused and pulled enough information from Bruneschi, but I knew the most likely reason why. It must've had something to do with the pit-boss from the other night. Fuck ...
    
      "Oh stop, Stanley, stop," Jamie whispered loudly, "I think Jill might be awake."
    
      Great, I thought as I pulled away. My face and mouth smelled like her muff musk. I wiped my mouth with the back of my arm as Jamie quickly slipped on her cocktail dress. She hesitated briefly at the bedroom door then went in. After a minute or so, she tip-toed back out, her face filled with relief.
    
      "God that was scary." She smiled at me. "She was just talking in her sleep."
    
      "Oh?" I grinned back. "Anything you can make out?"
    
      "It's nothing," she shook her head, but I picked up what she wanted to hide from me. Jillian had been calling out: 'Dad-da.'
    
      Cute, I thought.
    
      Jamie kicked off her shoes and I saw other bits of calligraphy on her body as well. Her toenails were painted ivory but there were black characters etched (or glued) on her nail surfaces: Lian-lian youw gumyut* and Dou-dou yuen gumching* [* Cantonese: May you have a day like this every year (typically used for birthdays) and Make a love connection where ever you are (closest translation).]
    
      Her fingernails sported an equal amount of poetry (her thumbnails were blank): Lungma-jingsun* and Sum-sheung-tsi-sing* [* Cantonese: May you possess great vitality and virility like the tiger and horse and May you get what you wish for (both typically used for Lunar New Years).]
    
      "Do you know what all these mean?" I took her by the hand and kissed her.
    
      "A little," Jamie shrugged, "I used to be able to read them when I was little. A friend of mine helped me pick them out."
    
      "I've never seen such beauty before." I flashed her a grin. "And the calligraphy is lovely, too."
    
      She blushed and pulled me down once more. I was more than ready despite the brief break. Motherfucker, I thought. I was actually going to go through with this.
    
      "Got condoms?" I asked her. Jamie nodded and pulled out a small box from a stand near the couch. Her brow knitted when she picked it up. She shook it. It was empty.
    
      "Goddammit," she turned to me with a look of disbelief.
    
      Her expression was so hilarious I had to smile. Soon enough, Jamie was smiling too. I embraced her and sensed her disappointment and frustration. Shit. She wasn't the only one disappointed here. I had an itch to scratch too. Thankfully, I had learned a few tricks over the years.
    
      "Hey," I whispered, "If you're okay with this, I've got an idea."
    
      "Are you talking about pulling out?" Jamie looked at me curiously. "That won't work. That's how I got Jill."
    
      "Not quite as risky," I brushed her hair aside and kissed her on the nape of her neck.
    
      "O--oh God," she panted.
    
      Jamie reacted as I predicted she would: she hugged me then proceeded to wrap her soft warm thighs around my waist. I carried her to the kitchen and put her on the barstool. I pulled open a drawn and grabbed some saran wrap. Jamie's eyes flew wide as I squirted a drop of cooking oil between my fingers and rubbed them together.
    
      "This is just to get started," I wrapped my dick and left a little room to hold my deposit.
    
      I oiled up and rubbed Jamie's lips with my erect dong. I kissed her deeply, flicking my tongue lightly over her lips and gums to get her a little more aroused. The sultry Asian beauty gasped and clutched me clumsily. I may not have been as "professional" as she was, but I knew what I was doing. I lifted her and carried her back to the living room.
    
      With Jamie still facing the kitchen, I mind-yanked my sports jacket and spread it on the carpet, along with one of the sofa cushions. I lay her down and placed the cushion under her head. She hardly gave it all a thought as she fixated on me, fascinated, excited, and a little fearful. I grasped her by her ankles and parted her legs easily. Jamie's breaths were coming in ragged as I pushed the head of my cock into her.
    
      "Ugh--gawd," Jamie's mouth was wide open, her face full of pent-up lust.
    
      Seeing, sensing, and feeling the frustration of this desperate young mother reinforced my own appetite. I leaned over and kissed her as I pushed into her slowly. I savored each millimeter as my oil-covered cock forced open her baby chute. Jamie gritted her teeth as I hilted myself. I was breathing at a pretty good clip now. I could feel her body trembling as my member would pulse with each beat of my heart.
    
      She pawed gently at my cheeks and chest as we kissed. Her desire was reaching a point of no return, and my willpower was quickly eroding. I surrendered to Jamie's embrace and put her legs against my chest. With her ankles next to my neck, I began to move to and fro, eliciting a carnal sigh of relief from her throat.
    
      "Ff--uu--uck," her eyes and face were frozen in beautiful agony as I pumped her to my heart's content.
    
      When I tired of pumping her woman-well from above, I let one of her legs slip off so I could drill her crotch while having her do a gorgeous dancer's split. In that position, I could kiss one of her feet, and even suckle her primly pedicured toes. Jamie didn't seem to mind. In fact, she was fighting the urge to scream out and scare the shit out of her daughter, her neighbors, and anyone else who cared to listen.
    
      "Uhg--mother--fugger," she gave me an angry lustful stare.
    
      Seeing this young mother snarling like a bitch in heat and hearing filthy words pouring out of her sweet mouth prompted me to get a little rougher. Jamie gave a short surprised yelp as I grasped her firmly by both ankles and threw her legs back. She was now curled into a totally fuckable ball. I hung her heels behind her head. This pretty much bared her sweet ass for my waiting cock.
    
      I climbed on top and wrecked that ass. Our bodies were glistening with sweat as I piledrived deep into her sopping fuckspace. My cock was wet and slick principally from the juices she was providing. Her fetus condo was now flooded with her warm, slick cum, and the only outlet was plugged up by my fat fucking cock. Boo-yeah.
    
      As her murky odor filled my nostrils, I began thrusting her harder with each successive stroke. Jamie's lips quivered as if she was in pain, but her eyes said otherwise. Her body practically begged me to pummel her as long as I humanly could. I shifted my focus a bit and found her mind in a state of unrepenitant lust.
    
      I decided to experiment a little bit with my telekinesis. Viktoriya had showed me how she could "roll" a gentle force all along the length of her Grafenberg Spot (g-spot). It made her keep up and cum like crazy when she did it. I wondered if I could do the same.
    
      I focused where my cock was while I pumped Jamie so I could get a bearing of where I needed to focus. Once I did, I mind-pushed gently against the opposite direction. To Jamie, it felt like my fuckstick had just fattened up a little and was hitting her sweet spot. Her physical reaction was immediate: uncontrollable shivers took hold of her body as she began cumming in quick succession.
    
      "Don' stop you muff'fug'ger--don' you fuggin' gud'dam stop," her eyes locked onto mine she foamed at the mouth and struggled for breath.
    
      Jamie was studying me like a hungry she-wolf stalking her prey. The stream of orgasms she was experiencing zoned her out from everything save getting ram-fucked. She was getting turned-on by watching me getting turned-on by her getting turned-on.
    
      This emotional merry-go-round subsided when I began to lag behind in my thrusting. My balls ached for release and they were getting it. Jamie felt the familiar event coming and relinquished her self-control.
    
      "Gawdfuckdammit!!!!" she hissed through clenched teeth as if she was injured. She wasn't though. It was simply the first genuine orgasm she'd had in quite some time. I felt her nails dig deeply and painfully into my neck where she held me tight.
    
      It felt good enough that I slammed her one last time and came. I uttered a hushed cry and ejaculated, our hips hemmed together by a near constant stream of cum flowing from my body into hers. Jamie muffled my throes by kissing, biting, and licking my lips, my cheeks, and my chin.
    
      "Uhng--mother--fucker," I emptied my balls like I hadn't in some time.
    
      I collapsed on top of her, exhausted from the physical exertion I just went through. Talk about burning calories and having fun doing it. The last time I had physically exerted myself this much was helping the Lychenkos move to Indiana. Them and their goddamned second-rate Russian furniture. Jamie rolled on top of me, her black hair now a sweaty, jumbled mess. She was squatting on my still semi-hard, saran wrapped cock. We held hands as her C-cup breasts swayed to and fro. I gently reached out with my focus and tickled her erect nipples with a pleasurable tickle.
    
      "Oh--god--oh-god," Jamie's tongue lolled from her gaping mouth as she worked herself up once more.
    
      "Come on baby," I hurled myself against her. "Do it. Cum on me. Let me taste you."
    
      My dick was nearly flaccid, but thanks to a little telekinetic "enhancement" it was all good. Jamie hardly knew the difference. She rode my psychokinetic penis and was loving it.
    
      "Ungh--fuck!!!" Jamie finally cried out, but only briefly.
    
      Her legs tried to snapped shut but she was so spent already, she simply buckled and collapsed on top of me in an exhausted heap. Jamie let out a satisfied groan as she stretched herself out. I held her and gently massaged her naked sweat-soaked body.
    
      "That. Was ...," Jamie licked her lips and brushed away some of her hair, unable to finish the sentence.
    
      "Yeah," I kissed her. "Good."
    
      I guess so much of our blood went elsewhere, our minds were starved of oxygen to conjugate complete sentences. Jamie caught her breath then propped her chin on my chest.
    
      "Stanley? Still awake?" she grazed my face lightly as she studied me.
    
      "Yeah, how can I not be?" I laughed softly and patted her ass.
    
      "I want you again," Jamie whispered fiercely, "Can you?"
    
      I didn't want to, but with her body on top me, it was impossible for me to decline.
    
      "Yeah sure," I panted, "Just gimme a minute okay?"
    
      "Okay," she said, "Don't make wait too long. I'm not letting you leave Vegas before round two."
    
    ===============================================================================
      INTERLUDE -- BUYERS REMORSE
    ===============================================================================
    
      "Round two" lasted maybe four minutes tops, but that was just on my end. For Jamie, I mind-frigged her while alternately tickling her clit and her nipples until she creamed all over my crotch and groin. Exhausted, spent, and having experienced one of the most pleasurable nights she had in a long time, the sultry Asian siren fell asleep almost instantly.
    
      As I watched her snooze, I cleaned up quietly. I found her bathrobe in the restroom. I threw that, her cocktail dress, and my sports jacket over her sleeping form. Having done so, I sat back, dressed in my slacks and shirt, and mentally pinged Las Vegas. Bruneschi I found in the heart of the Strip, near the casino where I was staying (and where, I presumed, Jamie worked). I hadn't met Pincelli, but I only assumed now it would be a matter of time.
    
      How should I prepare? Could I even prepare? I wondered and worried, cursing myself for doing what I did to bed this beautiful, highly-fuckable, high-class Asian call-girl. I had already gotten in trouble with Janet and Rachelle when they learned I was sleeping with the other, only luck (and Melanie's undying loyalty) saved it from being a complete disaster.
    
      Now that Yu-Ching had grown up, I wasn't sure if she would be so forgiving. Besides, Jamie had a kid. That was something Janet and I were trying to have. I probably just sent a million potential little Stanleys and Janets to the Las Vegas sewage and septic system in one heated night of passion. Wouldn't Janet be ecstatic?
    
      And what of Shawn? She was going away for the next three years, and she could easily find another boyfriend there. She did that before with Scott from the paper back in high school. If Shawn got wind of this, even I couldn't predict what she'd might do.
    
      And Viktoriya. I cringed inwardly. Any feeling or memory of Jamie that crossed my mind she could probably pick out in a moment of weakness. Being able to muster enough telekinetic strength to crush cars, "Vika" could probably worm it out of me in less time for me to say it, the pulp me with a thought. Strange as it was, I didn't fear her gift; I just feared losing her.
    
      Stupid, stupid, stupid. I found my hands had balled into fists. Goddamned that was dumb of me.
    
      I felt the urge to do violence, destroy something annoying, like I habitually did at the border. Scorpions, spiders, snakes, and even buzzing flies and mosquitoes made great targets for me to practice my telekinesis. But I couldn't. There were rules. There were regulations. And they state that revelation wasn't an option in the invisible empire. It was a death sentence. In any case, I had made my bed; now I had to lie in it.
    
    ===============================================================================
      INSTANT FAMILY -- JUST ADD BODY FLUID
    ===============================================================================
    
      I woke up the next morning a little sore but otherwise fine and in time for brunch. Jamie and her daughter took me to a nearby park after a late breakfast at Scott's Pancake House.
    
      "I really want to thank you again," Jamie said, "I don't get much time with her."
    
      "Don't mention it," I sat on the bench beside her in the dry Vegas heat.
    
      The three of us had on sunglasses and sun block. Jill even had a little white hat on as she ran from one part of the playground to the other. To an outside observer, we appeared to be a young couple with their daughter at the park. The only thing that would've given it away (aside from the paperwork) was that Jill had Eurasian features.
    
      "No really. Thank you Stanley," Jamie went on, "You've given me a wonderful gift."
    
      "You're very welcome," I sipped my cup of tepid tap water, "Hey, I think she's calling you."
    
      Jillian waved from the sandbox. We both waved back, with Jamie blowing a kiss at her. She and I would talk, but the young mother's eyes never lost sight of her cherished daughter. It didn't earnestly matter though. I now could sense both of their presences anywhere in the world. If some low-life did something uncivil to Jillian or Jamie, he would've signed his death warrant.
    
      "She'll be fine," Jamie's voice took an odd tone, "I'm more worried about you."
    
      "Really?" I tried hard not to smile, but I did anyway, "I'm a big boy now."
    
      She laughed and leaned against me, her eyes still locked onto her daughter playing in the sandbox.
    
      "You deliberately missed your flight Saturday, didn't you?"
    
      "Not exactly," I half-lied.
    
      "I've seen this before with --" Jamie lowered her volume a bit, "-- guys I've dated. Some of 'em just can't let go. They wreck their lives, and for what?"
    
      "For love?" I hazarded a guess. I already knew what the other answers were. I felt Jamie take my hand.
    
      "You're married Stanley," she whispered, "I can feel it. Did you take your ring off when you came here?"
    
      I kept silent and wondered if I should tell her the whole truth (which would leave me open to bigamy charges) or part of the truth (which would no doubt piss her off once the real truth came out). Still, it wouldn't do to lead her on. I was still deliberating when her phone rang. Jamie cursed under her breath and I squeezed her shoulder.
    
      "I'll watch her," I said. "Take your call."
    
      "Thanks," Jamie gave me a quick peck on the cheek and turned away to take the call, "Hello?"
    
      I sat quietly and tried to pay no heed to the conversation. I found it unsettling how people were starting to talk so readily and easily on their mobile phones. They rarely sought out physical privacy to complete their calls.
    
      In a way, I thought wryly, Viktoriya and I were also guilty when we thought-spoke; I was more liable to talk in public though since I switched between thought-speech and audible 'normal' speaking often. But then again, our "mind-chats" were completely silent. Unless a someone knew what we were thinking (say Tseng was nearby and earnestly focused on eavesdropping) there was no chance of our chat being broadcast for the world to hear.
    
      That was fortunate too. Viktoriya sometimes communicated the most vile and impolite things via thought-speak, knowing that only I could hear them. Like this one thing she said about Faraz (after having met him at his engagement party) about how Arab and Turkish men were pretty much ...
    
      "Stanley?" Jamie's voice jerked me from my thoughts, "I gotta go. Joey says he has something for me to do." I darkened inwardly at what it could be, but said nothing to her. "Could I impose on you one last time? Would you be able to watch Jillian just a little longer? What time's your flight?"
    
      "I'm always on stand-by remember?" I grinned, enjoying my time with her. "It could be tomorrow morning for all I know."
    
      "God I'm awful," she hung her head.
    
      I put an arm around Jamie and pulled her close. I had been mulling over an idea since I shared that cab with her. I didn't actually need all that money from the casino. I could simply give some of it to her. It would help her out immensely. If anything, bigger fish were waiting for me either on the US-Mex border (or Central and South America, although most sensible people would say jerking around with La Corporacion might've been going just a wee bit too far).
    
      "Do you have to go?" I asked.
    
      "What do you mean 'do I have to'?" Jamie gave a sad little laugh. "It's a living. And besides, he'd find me if I ran. Where would I go? How could I keep Jill safe?"
    
      "What if you could start over?" I pressed, "New place. New city?"
    
      "I don't know where I'd go," she said matter-of-factly. "My mom and dad don't want me."
    
      "But they know about Jill don't they?" I squeezed her shoulder. "Surely they can't be all that bad."
    
      "Then you don't know my parents," Jamie sighed. "Look Stanley, you're a great guy and I know you're just trying to help. But, it's all too complicated right now, okay?"
    
      I sensed her frustration and her increasing unwillingness to cooperate. While I guess I could've pressured her into doing what I wanted, that wasn't my way. It took a lot of violence and physical toll (risking seizures and stroke) when I did do mind control. Besides, the effects wouldn't be permanent or earnestly genuine. That crooked pit-boss is probably regretting "his" decision to let me go after my little mind-fuck.
    
      So, I relented, if only reluctantly. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry. I'll do what I can okay?"
    
      Jamie smiled and kissed me. "Thank you."
    
      I suppose it did eventually worked itself out, but it took some doing. Jamie called for (and left in) on a cab from her apartment after giving Jillian a hug and instructions to "listen to Uncle Stan", at least until I needed to leave for the airport. I was still rankling over the thought I was being called an uncle. I was too young to be anyone's uncle. Shit. It made me feel old.
    
      Jamie left around mid-afternoon (around 3:30 to the best of my recollection) after dolling herself up. It was hard, but I did my best not to notice and played with Jill instead. As the sun started to set, I cooked what I thought to be the last meal for Jamie in that apartment.
    
      I had made my decision about the money. I found an old gym bag with Jamie's unmentionables (hehehe) and counted out $240,000 in usable bills. Hopefully, they weren't trackable (they didn't appear to be when I took it from the casino's office). With a little over four thousand dollars left, I squished the bills into my wallet and pockets. Damn, I thought. I hate small bills.
    
      Jillian was watching TV and eating dinner when the phone rang in the apartment. I didn't answer and watched as Jill simply put her hands over her ears.
    
      "You don't answer the phone?" I asked.
    
      The little girl shook her head, "Mommy zays itzsh alwayz bad people. Mommy's woe'bot duzz'it."
    
      Robot? I blinked and wondered what the hell that meant. The answering machine clicked on after six rings and Jamie's breathy sultry voice came on: 'Hello, you've reached Jamie at 555-2368. I'm unavailable at the moment. Please leave your name and number and I'll get back to you. Bye!'
    
      BEEP.
    
      There was a brief silence then an unknown male voice spoke up, "Pick up the phone Chen. Stan Chen, right? I know you're there. We need to talk."
    
      My mind went immediately into alert as I snatched the receiver from its cradle.
    
      "This is he," I kept my voice measured and controlled despite my mounting anxiety. "Who is this?"
    
      "Ah, so you're the guy Mark told me about," the voice on the other end had a Bronx-like accent.
    
      "Who's Mark?" I asked.
    
      "Don't play dumb," said the unknown caller. I glanced down at the phone and noticed the caller ID was blocked. "You've met Mark right? He was supposed to have had a good time in Vegas for doing a good job. Instead, I get some kid who's balls are bigger than his brains."
    
      Of course, I thought. It must've been that Marc Bruneschi character. Then this guy on the phone must be ...
    
      "You must be Joey," I said without aplomb. Now I was worried. Was Jamie all right?
    
      "So you've heard of me," the man on the other end said. "You should know I'm a good businessman. Come to my place. Let's have a talk. Marc's just outside."
    
      "Where's Jamie?" I fired off a question before the phone went dead.
    
      Thankfully, I knew Jamie wasn't or else that buzz of hers would've vanished from my mind as did Howard's years ago. I dimly sensed something though. Fear. Stark, naked fear about Jill's safety. And a collateral fear came along as well: my safety. I nearly sighed with relief, but I didn't. I needed a clear head now. I put the phone back into the cradle and glanced at Jill. She was watching me with curiosity in her eyes.
    
      "W'ere'z mommy?" she asked, "W'en iz zhee cummin' back?"
    
      "Mommy's in a little trouble," I said and wondered how much help I could get from a five year old. "Listen to me Jill, do you know what 9-1-1 is?"
    
      Jill thought for a moment and replied brightly, "Copz!!"
    
      "Good." I gave her a reassuring grin despite the situation being anything but. "Now, cops are good people, understand? If you see anyone come in to your room or knock on the door who isn't me or mommy, you call 9-1-1, understand?"
    
      The little girl nodded slowly. I sensed she knew something really big was happening, but she lacked the ability to comprehend exactly what.
    
      "Mommy's going to be all right," I assured her. "I'll be back with her in a flash."
    
      I knew Jill wouldn't be tall enough to secure all the locks, so I did that for her. Telekinesis snapped shut every lock in the place. Then remembering how fond criminals were of using fire, I found the gas-line to Jamie's stove and closed the valve.
    
      Now, unless someone actually firebombed her place with a molotov, Jill would be relatively safe for the time being. When I stepped outside, I saw Marc Bruneschi waiting for me across the street with his car.
    
    ===============================================================================
      DECISIONS, DECISIONS
    ===============================================================================
    
      Thankfully, Jamie was okay. Me on the other hand ... I winced from the pain. The blow had taken me by surprise chiefly because I was so shocked by Jamie's disheveled state. While I operated objectively on the border with Tseng, I hadn't had to worry about anyone else during an operation save myself. Now, not only did I have to watch for Jamie, I had Jill to worry about once that brute Bruneschi headed back out after he delivered me to Pincelli. I only hoped the locks would hold (or the neighbors or Jill would call the police) if he was caught entering the place.
    
      So now I was on the floor of a plush office in Pincelli's house, my gut still churning from the blow. I quickly surveyed what I was facing as Pincelli ranted and railed on. Aside from Joey and Jamie, there were three others in the room. Interestingly, I had met them all before. They were the two toughs and the pit-boss from the casino.
    
      The tough whom I had kicked across the face was the one standing over me with a heavy magnum. I sensed he was itching to use it, but hesitated only because it would make a very bloody mess in the room. He had a neck brace on but that wouldn't hamper him from killing me. The other two were the pit-boss and the giant tough who I remembered was called Warren. Warren was standing next to a Jamie as she huddled fearfully in a swivel chair.
    
      "So you thought you could cheat me?" Pincelli swung a wooden croquet mallet around like a toy, "Start messing with my business?"
    
      "I thought he told you," I grimaced and rubbed my aching gut. "I wouldn't bother with your casino again."
    
      I tried to get back up, but the tough standing over me only permitted me to kneel.
    
      "That's what I'm trying to figure out," Pincelli glanced at the pit-boss, "Bruno here has been running the pit since before my time. He'd never get far by paying shitbags like you off."
    
      I sensed Pincelli's paranoia and decided to play into it. "Maybe he's in on it with me."
    
      "Bruno?" the mafioso's gaze quickly made the pit-boss nervous and Warren step a bit from him.
    
      "It wasn't me Joey," the pit-boss called Bruno pointed his gnarled finger at me, "He's one of those stage magicians or sum'thin. Hypnotized me and shit. I swear t'God Joey; I'd never do you wrong."
    
      "No. No you didn't," Pincelli nodded, "Otherwise you'd be wise to get outta town."
    
      "Thanks boss," the pit-boss was visibly relieved.
    
      "As for this sack of shit," Pincelli pointed his hammer at me, "You're going to skip town and you'd better not show your face in my place again."
    
      I nodded mutely. I already had Pincelli and his goons targeted mentally but I kept my eyes on Jamie. The girl was terrified at what might happen, but there wasn't anything I could to comfort her without compromising our safety. I needed all of my concentration and I hoped by simply keeping my physical gaze on Jamie, it'd give her some measure of comfort. Unfortunately, Pincelli caught my even gaze and grabbed her roughly by the arm.
    
      "You fucking whore!" he shook her in a rage, "Did he fuck your brains out? You can't follow simple orders?!"
    
      "Stop! Joey stop!!" Jamie cried, "You're hurting me!!"
    
      "Damn straight I am!" Pincelli struck her across the face, "Just lie there and fuck! Is that too hard?! Do I have to start fresh with your bitch daughter?"
    
      I stifled the urge to rise; the tough in the neck brace would likely bring his gun down on my head. I didn't need that. If anything, I needed my mind intact more than ever now. It was my weapon. My best weapon. My only weapon. Shit. I was the weapon. I realized now why Tseng didn't bother with any hardware.
    
      "Don't hurt her! I'm sorry!! Don't hurt her! I'm sorry!!" Jamie repeated as she broke down before him.
    
      Pincelli stood over her with a triumphant look on his sick face. Somehow, he reminded me of one bandito boss in Tecate who loved his tequila and was always a braggart. After each unbelievable story, he'd sit back with the same dipshit grin of inadequacy that Joey Pincelli now wore. When Tseng and I hit that bandito base a few days later, I had to personally chase down that lying scumbag and kill him myself, because for all his big talk, he seldom carried a gun (and thus was useless for the plan we used). I chuckled at the similarity, then I started cracking up, laughing until I was short on breath. The little mafioso and the others thought I'd gone nuts.
    
      "Th'hell are you laughing at?" Pincelli asked.
    
      It took me a bit to get under control, but I decided to push my luck. I knew only Pincelli or I would get out of this alive. Since I had a personal interest in living, I preferred it to be me walking out the door.
    
      "Nothing," I said casually, "Your face just reminded of something."
    
      "Oh yeah?" Pincelli's mouth twitched. I sensed he knew he wasn't a handsome man, but he was still sensitive about his looks.
    
      "Yeah," I shrugged, "But nevermind that."
    
      "No, no, tell me," the leather-faced mafioso bent over so his face was next to mine, "What do I remind you of?"
    
      "No one special." I snickered. "Just this kid I saw at your shitty buffet, Joey."
    
      The room became eerily quiet as I continued. "See, most greasy Dago wops like you know a decent meal, but judging from the crap you're serving, it's like you really cut corners and was just serving shit from your mother's own ass. The kid was about to throw-up." I could see the pit-boss make the sign of the cross as I went on. "So what'd you do with your mother? Dig her up and milk the bitch for her formaldehyde laden piss too? Your casino's coffee sure tastes like it."
    
      Pincelli's expression would've been humorous had I not known that he intended to kill me right there.
    
      "You fucking son of a --!" he drew back his hammer and everything happened almost at once.
    
      Here's another pro-tip: never fuck with a telepath. I had planned on doing some mayhem alone, but Jamie changed that. She suddenly lunged and grabbed Pincelli's arm. Had I not been able to sense that mere moments before, things probably would've wound up a lot messier. Instead, I quickly adapted and changed my plan of attack.
    
      The tough with the twisted neck was key; I pushed his arm up with telekinesis and pulled the trigger. The pit-boss's eyes were in disbelief as he was attacked again by one his own crew. This time though, he wasn't able to mull over it afterwards; he died instantly when the magnum bullet blew his brains out all over the wall.
    
      "Fuck!" the neck-brace tough exclaimed in surprise as I stood back up.
    
      He found he couldn't control his arm as I swung it over to Warren, who was initially going to restrain Jamie when the pit-boss's head suddenly exploded. I had to admire his professionalism. His surprise only lasted a micro-second as he reached for his own weapon. He didn't get it out in time when I had pressed the big magnum's trigger again and blew his brains out as well.
    
      By now the tough with the neck-brace knew that I was somehow involved. He reached for me with his other hand to try and choke or grapple me. I knew he was thinking about it before he hand had covered half the distance. I dropped my focus from the thug's gun arm and he found he could aim his weapon again. It didn't matter though. I concentrated my telekinesis and slipped past his face, eyes, and portions of his nasal cavity. I placed an ungodly amount of pressure on his cervical vertebrae. He collapsed dead, leaving me, Pincelli, and Jamie as the only ones alive in the room.
    
      Things had apparently happened so fast, Pincelli didn't realize what was going on until he saw Warren's head explode. He then knew that I had either disarmed someone or pulled out a weapon on my own. He pulled Jamie off by her hair, and I heard her shriek in despair. Pincelli turned just in time to meet my fist.
    
      Of course, there wasn't any "real" contact. I was leaving behind a pretty big forensics trail already. Had I brass knuckles, I would've used them and ditched them in a sewer. But I didn't need any physical implement; I shrouded my hand with a telekinetic shroud. My "punch" threw Pincelli back with great force. He fell back and his head slammed against the side of his desk in a wet crunch. He wasn't dead but this was practically an invitation.
    
      I found where his neck was broken and brought down an invisible concentration of telekinetic force. Joey Pincelli didn't even have time to register surprise before I snapped his neck. I looked around at the carnage. In less time than it took for a second hand to go 'round a clock's face, I had neutralized four hostiles at knife-point range.
    
      Impressive, I scratched my ear. That's what Tseng probably would've said if he'd been here. Too bad that this was now _my_ mess, and I was not in a lawless land.
    
    ===============================================================================
      LEAVING LAS VEGAS
    ===============================================================================
    
      Jamie wouldn't stop shaking until I got her out of the house. Thankfully the servants had all left before she was brought in. I knew Pincelli didn't want his business advertised or witnessed. This meant I didn't have to neutralize any more people. I was about to call the police when Jamie screamed for me to stop.
    
      "Joey's with the mob!" she was terrified, "Who knows what'll happen with the cops?! They'll take Jill away from me!"
    
      Although it was wrong of me, I did understand how portions of the bureaucracy worked. While social services back then wouldn't have taken Jillian away from Jamie's custody (as they would now) there were other issues at risk, like how I was able to kill four armed men at close quarters without a whit of official training.
    
      I held Jamie while she bawled and clawed on my jacket (I had to get it dry-cleaned later). Her former boss and his henchmen were splayed in death all around us. The route I went with was legally wrong at the time. Still, I didn't feel bound my traditional 'normal' law. I was an empire citizen and I defended myself. So I did things my way.
    
      I couldn't hail a cab, not with Jamie looking the way she did, so I found and took the spare keys to one of Pincelli's cars. I packed Jamie inside a leather lined luxury sedan, drove down about 100 feet and stopped.
    
      "Just wait," I said.
    
      "Stanley! Don't leave me!!" she grabbed my hand and wouldn't let go.
    
      "I've got to take care of something," I pushed her away gently. "Just stay put. I'll be back, I promise."
    
      Pincelli's place was secluded enough that gunfire didn't draw attention. The isolated location, coupled with the use sound-proofing in the office helped dampen loud noises. Once out of Jamie's sight, I TK-skated back to his place and sealed shut all the openings I could find, all but one. In order to create an explosion, I needed to create a proper mixture of natural gas and air. I felt around the place with my mind and found the gas lines; my telekinesis easily severed them.
    
      I found the wire to the door chime's buzzer and frayed it. Pincelli's alarm system had been disabled and he had no cameras (being old mafia, I think he knew what that would've meant). I wiped down the wooden croquet mallet with some toilet paper, threw the wipes into the toilet bowl, and flushed it by pressing the lever with telekinesis. The place was rapidly filling with gas as I left. I went back to the car and found her on the phone.
    
      "Jamie?" I hopped into the car, "Who're you calling?"
    
      "Home," she said. "I need to know Jill is safe."
    
      "I don't think that's a good idea," I cautioned. "You know that Joey's enforcer was on his way there? And I thought Jill didn't answer the phone."
    
      "She does if it's me," Jamie looked at me with worry. "She was there when Joey called, wasn't she?"
    
      "You call your answering machine a robot." I managed a lop-sided smile. "I never thought of it that way."
    
      She let out a sad, whimpering laugh as I closed my hands over both of hers and calmed her. I telekinetically pushed her phone's buttons and hung up her call.
    
      "Nothing will happen to her," I said. "I locked the place up as best I could. Jill knows what 9-1-1 is. She'll dial if she's in trouble."
    
      I mind-pinged Bruneschi and Jillian at the same time, to make sure what I said was true. Both were alive, although both were in close proximity to one another. He was likely just staking the place out once he figured he couldn't break in. No wait; not exactly. I rummaged through the enforcer's conscious thoughts. He was to watch and make sure no one went in until Pincelli called back. That was going to be mildly annoying.
    
      "No police," Jamie tearful pleading brought me back to reality. "They won't do shit against Joey's people!"
    
      "Easy there baby girl," I started the car. "I'll take care of it."
    
      "What do you mean by that?" she stared at me accusingly. "And what happened back there?"
    
      "The gun from the guy behind me went off," I lied. "He fired twice at the right people; right for me."
    
      "Dear God," Jamie swallowed. "Y--you know martial arts?"
    
      "Something like that." I wanted her to think she had contributed something positive, so I lied a little. "Lucky you grabbed Joey's hammer and distracted them. You saved my life."
    
      "Nonsense," she mumbled and slumped into her seat, tired and broken.
    
      Her beautiful features had been marred. She sported angry bruises on her face and a bleeding lip from where Pincelli had hit her. She winced when I gently grazed her face.
    
      "I better get you to a hospital," I turned my attention back to the road.
    
      "I'm not leaving Jill goddammit," Jamie's anger was apparent. "Do you understand me?!"
    
      I was mildly apprehensive. I'd never shown off my abilities in telekinesis except with Viktoriya or in secret. Jamie was literally in the room when I started using my gift to do carnage. Of course, she was distracted at the time so she didn't really see what happened. However, just the fact that someone like myself walked out from a such a violent encounter unscathed and victorious would inevitably lead to her asking some hard questions. I had to be careful but let Jamie get her way. After all, it was her kid.
    
      "All right," I relented. "But you do things my way, got it? At least until you're safe."
    
      "Thank you, Stanley," Jamie said finally and put her hand on my thigh.
    
      As we neared her place, I pinged the area. Devoting just a little more concentration, I got more details about my subjects. Jillian was still inside the apartment, drawing on some coloring books I had bought for her. I felt an immediate sense of relief which quickly soured. Heck, this wasn't my kid. Ought I be that concerned?
    
      Bruneschi was not across the street, but rather parked down a side street where he could watch who pulled up to Jamie's place. I made a slight detour and drove up to the apartment the opposite side of the street so he could only glimpse Jamie in the passenger seat. I stopped, put the car in PARK, and glanced at the young woman.
    
      "Okay girl," I patted her bare knee, "You walk across the street to your place, got it? He'll see you and I'll take care of the rest. You go inside, don't look back, and you start packing, okay? We leave in 30 minutes."
    
      Jamie nodded and about to kiss me when I shook my head.
    
      "Later. You're hurt," I handed her my jacket to cover her up. "Go on now."
    
      She slipped out of the car and walked shakily back to her apartment. Almost as an after-thought, I undid the one lock on the apartment door I remembered no 'normal' would be able to operate from the outside. It was the same method I used to secure my storage space that held all those guns and ammo.
    
      I zeroed in on where Bruneschi was. He lit up when he saw Jamie come out of our sedan. He had his suspicions but assumed that the job was done. As he went to reach for his phone, I shifted my focus onto what he could see. It was very similar to Bethany's gift, but done my way. I got out of the car and appeared exactly like Joey Pincelli (except in my clothes) and walked towards Bruneschi's car. I saw the enforcer blink once or twice before he gave signs of recognition. I walked up to the side of his window, careful not to place my bare hands on his car or person.
    
      I had heard Pincelli speak; I could mimic him from memory. Aside from maintaining the "look" of Pincelli's face for Bruneschi's benefit, I devoted a small part of my effort to fool him into "hearing" the late Joey Pincelli when I spoke.
    
      "Head back to the house," I kept my words simple, afraid that any slip would give me away.
    
      "You take care of things Joey?" Marc looked unhappy, "Imagine a fella like me gettin' gypped by a slut for a shrimp that size. Bet you his prick is as small as he was."
    
      I suppose I could've done something rash, but Bruneschi became part of my plan as I plotted on how to escape with my skin (and Jamie's) unscathed and untouched by the law.
    
      "Ring the doorbell when you're back," I said in my Pincelli voice. "I've got a surprise for ya."
    
      Bruneschi arched a brow, saw my "Pincelli-face" smile, and he grinned.
    
      "Thanks Joey," the enforcer started up and drove off.
    
      I smiled as I caught the image in his mind; a vague, feminine shape, or maybe two, I wasn't too sure. It took Jamie and me about 45 minutes to drive from Pincelli's place at the posted speed limit (it's incredible what one pays attention to when riding as a hostage). Assuming Bruneschi drove a little faster, I hoped the 30 minutes I gave Jamie was just what we needed. I headed into Jamie's without my illusory face and packed faster than I had ever had before.
    
    ===============================================================================
      INTERLUDE -- THE SIXTH DARLING
    ===============================================================================
    
      After Pincelli's "accident", the casino was bought up and refurbished by someone in the "new" mob, a good businessman who didn't try to cheat their customers with the rough stuff. I felt Bruneschi's mental presence dim moments after he rang the doorbell at Pincelli's; I didn't know the details of how he met his end until Tseng confronted me about it.
    
      Naturally, the FBI and Vegas police were curious as to how Pincelli and his close acquaintances died. With the curious display of bodies and bloodshed at the house, the police surmised that something had gone wrong between Pincelli and someone else. Knowing the little greaseball's temper, conspiracy theories abounded from a mob hit to some unknown rival. For a time, even Bruneschi was suspected, and him ringing the doorbell later was a failed attempt to cover up his tracks.
    
      Regardless, nothing tied back to me because I left no prints at the mobster's house nor did I leave any large deposit of biological residue. And while Jamie had left her prints over some parts of the room, Pincelli's office was actually heavily trafficked by other girls as well. All in all, it was a matter I thought I could dismiss. How wrong I was (but more on that later). In any case, I had more important things to worry about. Jamie and Jillian needed a place to go and I was heading back home. I took them along, if just for safe keeping. It took half a day for us to drive to San Francisco.
    
      As a precaution, I had stolen a Nevada license plate from a nearby car in Jamie's old neighborhood and fastened it to Pincelli's sedan. The old plates I unscrewed and absconded with; they're still rusting in the Pacific (along with the car). I altered the VIN with careful telekinetic scratches: a five becomes an eight easily and so forth. I wasn't aiming to get stopped, of course. It was all just a precaution.
    
      The initial few weeks required a little adjustment on my part; all of it seemed surreal to a point. Despite the carnage, Jamie never brought up Pincelli and that incident ever again in the household. Both mother and daughter took the transition better than I expected, but I made a few changes in my already busy schedule. While I had experience seeing girls on the side, I wasn't used to actually keeping another woman and her kid while planning for my own wedding to four other women.
    
      Even I had to admit that felt a little weird. Jamie wasn't exceptionally furious, nor was she too accepting when she first learned about Janet. She became more leery though, by the time I finished explaining about Melanie (I had introduced them in order of age: Janet, Viktoriya, etc. and not by order of how I met each).
    
      "How old is she again?" Jamie clutched at her evening coffee; beyond the motel room windows, the ocean was a slash of white foam. As good a setting as any to sort things out. I blinked and did some calculations.
    
      "Eighteen and a half."
    
      "Good god," she shook her head. "And I thought I was young when I lost my virginity. You know I was 20 when I had Jill right?"
    
      "Well, Yu-Ching hasn't brought that up yet," I studied her quietly. "So, don't go putting any ideas in her head."
    
      "I won't," Jamie signed a cross across her breast. "So what now? Do you want to keep seeing me?"
    
      "Yes. But would you want me to?"
    
      I was probably being a bit too forthcoming and earnest. Personally, I didn't mind but I knew I was playing with fire. I had known this woman for a total of about five days (including the time we spent together at school all those years ago). I had known Viktoriya (my last darling) for five years and we still had our differences. What chance was there with this relationship?
    
      "I wouldn't mind," she gave a demure reply.
    
      "I'm glad then." I grinned and touched fingers with her to "nudge" that decision along; it wasn't 100 percent fool-proof. She could still refuse me later.
    
      "Now Stanley, I want to be clear on something. While I appreciate all you've done," Jamie said slowly, "Jill still comes first. I've got to get my life back together too."
    
      "Gotcha." I nodded in agreement. It was the sensible answer for her to give me, but I felt her desire to remain in my domain. As "The Family Guy's" Glen Quagmire would say, 'O-right!'
    
      I stood to refill my own glass with tap water and added, "Look Jamie, you've got my number and enough to live on for a while. I'll find you an apartment, and maybe you can get your parents to watch Jill so you can go back to school."
    
      "I don't want them around my daughter," she sighed and gripped her warm brew. Her hands were shrouded by the sleeves of her ivory cardigan sweater to protect her from the city's chilly weather.
    
      "Are you sure about that?" I asked as I sat back down. "They are her grandparents."
    
      "And what do I tell them?" Jamie looked at me sadly, "The guy who fathered her isn't around anymore?"
    
      "Are you afraid they won't accept her?" I touched her hand, "I don't know about that. You haven't asked yet have you?"
    
      Her gaze fell to the floor as I skimmed her mind. I guess that's a 'No', I thought.
    
      "Well in any case," I gave her a gentle squeeze, "You need to get some new papers for Jill. Just in case Joey's people are looking for you. Have you considered Y-E-U-N-G, Y-I-A-N-G, or Y-U-N-G?"
    
      [** Author's Note: Jamie's last name 'Young' is a rough Anglicization of 'sheep' (the animal) which serves as her surname. With clever substitution of English vowels, she could keep her surname (not like the mob could read Chinese back then anyway) and can throw off records searches from private investigators. This is the same process where by Chinese restaurants change their Chinese names, but retain their English names; this allows them to avoid paying extra business fees to the city.]
    
      "Yeah." Jamie nodded and smiled. "I've been meaning to talk to you about that."
    
      "Have you now?" I grinned. "Lay it on me sister."
    
      "I want to change her name to Jill Chen," she murmured.
    
      "But that's my name."
    
      "I know," she said. "Would you be offended?"
    
      "No." I gave her hand another pat and smiled.
    
      "If you need a reason," she started but I hushed her with a gentle squeeze.
    
      She sure did have a reason, I thought. Two hundred and forty thousand of them. I had given Jamie most of the money I had won (fine -- 'acquired') from Pincelli's casino. I touched her cheek. She had healed from most of the injuries sustained in Vegas, although a small cut was still on her lip. Most of the bruising was gone as well; only a small yellow tinge was left were the most severe bruising occurred.
    
      "I'm fine with it," I nodded, "But what about you?"
    
      "I guess Yang is fine," she said, "It's uncomplicated. Like me."
    
      "No, you're pretty complicated," I gave her a reassuring wink, "That's why it took you a while to sort things out."
    
      "Do you always flatter with that tongue of yours?" Jamie laughed.
    
      "Sometimes," I gave her a sly smile. "It has other uses as well."
    
      "You a playa' boy!" she wore a I-know-what-you-want smirk. "I bet you're the toast of your little women's group."
    
      "Speaking of," I stood to leave, "I better go. It's getting late."
    
      "Hey, don't be a stranger," Jamie stood up and hugged me. She whispered into my ear, "And if you ever get bored or horny, just hit me up. I might just be in the mood."
    
      "Really?" I drew back and looked at her. "Are you sure?"
    
      "Yeah," the Asian beauty nodded quickly, "I want you fucking me from now on Stanley. Not some goddamn vibrator."
    
      "You kiss Jill with that mouth?" I squeezed her ass.
    
      "Sometimes," she parroted me. "It has other uses as well."
    
      "It sure does, sister." I grinned and kissed her gently.
    
      Shit. I just opened up another avenue of "ying-chou". Growing up, my mother would frequently use that phrase when ever she would have to put up with my father's family or some other work bullshit (she worked as a clerk in a Federal building much like my father but in a different department of the Federal government).
    
      This phrase (as to the best of my knowledge, neither Janet nor Melanie have corrected me yet) meant something along the lines of "obligation". It didn't matter what it was (or whom you were obligated to). It covered the social and professional settings (although in my household, it was principally used in the social context).
    
      With Jamie now, we had some sort of relationship and it wasn't just going to go away. She knew I killed those men, but it was in self-defence. In a way, I owed her a great deal more (she could've just gone to the police). Now though, it was like I had came out from nowhere and swept her off her feet. I felt the delirium in our sudden passion and personally feared it wouldn't last. Still, there were practical concerns to worry about. Unlike my cousin Aurora, Jamie had no support apart from me.
    
      Speaking of support and networking, a lot of it changed for me as well. Back in younger school days, I had socialized a a bit. In college, I had limited engagement with others outside of my area of study. Once I started working at Ferguson, I only fraternized with my lovelies and seldom with my colleagues. Seeing me do that, Janet began to egg, goad, or otherwise cajole me into stepping a little out of my comfort zone to engage socially (not sexually) with people at her firm and their circle of friends.
    
      Hence, I was besieged with obligations from all sides. I didn't mind Janet's demand on my time but my darling Lady Wu seemed to have found her own way of monopolizing my attention. Where Melanie would pull me away from the crowd so she could jump my bones, Janet seemed eager to engage with others, parading me around like a trophy cock. With Shawn in Tokyo and Viktoriya in New York, I didn't have many excuses (or friends; Faraz had moved to New York after the wedding) to use as an excuse to be with Jamie.
    
      Regardless of Jamie's lenient invitation into her life, I had developed a paternal affection for Jill. I didn't want Jamie simply for networking; I wanted the mother for myself and help raise her daughter. In some ways, I felt a kindred sympathy with Mr. Chen (Melanie's father, not mine); I imagined how'd I feel if some boy around nine or ten who took Jill and did things to her that I had with Melanie.
    
      Shit, I thought. I would've been pissed off too. Jillian was a fairly bright and precocious girl. She was inquisitive (most five year olds are) and my timing was just right; had she been raised solely by Jamie, I doubt she would've turned out the way she did.
    
      A few weeks after we left Las Vegas, mother and daughter were living in an apartment close to the 43rd Avenue site; one of the tenants of the building I bought had suggested the new place he was at. Back in 2000, a single bedroom, single bathroom apartment in the city went for about $1000 per month. If Jamie stayed there for six years, she'd shell out $72,000 (assuming rent didn't go up, which it eventually did).
    
      Jamie and I both knew she had to work or, as I recommended, go back to school. Enrolling Jillian into school wasn't a problem (had Jamie done so in Las Vegas, it would've harder to erase the paper trail). But in any case, Jill needed a sitter or a nanny. I couldn't watch her without seriously cutting into my own schedule (or alerting my parents that their son was becoming a polygamist). There was only one solution (it was the one I suggested earlier): Jamie reconciled with her parents.
    
      It was awkward, frustrating, and things nearly got out of hand. But thanks to some persuasive words, I smoothed things out as much as possible and got the ball rolling.
    
      The obvious question was: 'Who the hell was I?' For that, even I had no answer but Jamie, bless her quick thinking, said I was an old boyfriend and classmate. I was the hypothetical guy she met "after Howard but before Daniel" (whom I guessed was Jill's biological father). Mr. and Mrs. Young (the latter looked okay, if a little stern) were suspicious, condescending, and downright mean.
    
      I didn't blame Jamie for wanting to cut them out of her life. They even threatened to take custody of Jill, raising their voices and using some gutter filth right from the back alleys near Victoria Harbor. They stopped as soon as I threatened them with a little lawyer-talk.
    
      "Yeung-sang," I snapped. "Yi-guo hei li-ge shieun-lui. Hei-kui liang molui-ge mien-tsin, lei teiju lei-ba jui*." [* Cantonese: Mr. Young, this is your granddaughter; watch your mouth in her, and her mother's, presence.]
    
      I went on to explain that under no specific terms would they have a case: Jamie was self-sufficient for now and she could take care of Jill on a reasonable basis if certain things were stretched; Jamie was asking for their support and assistance so she could get back on her feet quickly.
    
      "Yu-guo li-ngm hung bong-zuo butkwuo kaow-hey di-xi," I flicked out Janet's business card smoothly. "Li-gew lige lyutxi tung woge lyutxi king-gei*." [* Cantonese: If you're unwilling to help out and just want to cause trouble, have your lawyer call my lawyer.]
    
      I had to admit, it was a gutsy (and risky) bluff on my part. Janet did not specialize in family custody law. Not only would she not have known where to begin (although she'd know who to contact) but she'd probably blow her top to learn that I had been porking another girl on the side. However, the Youngs were cowed enough by a sharp-dressed Chinese gent who spoke with clear, concise authority. When they finally agreed to help Jamie, she nearly fainted with relief. I helped her to a chair as I scanned them for sincerity behind her parents' answers.
    
      No tricks. No lies. And most of all, no expensive custody battle. I relaxed a bit. Well, it wasn't like they'd win their case anyway. I would've made sure of it. Never mess with a telepath.
    
      We spent an hour or so at the Young's house. Jill learned how to address her grandparents (kung-kung and por-por) and even learned a few words of Cantonese while she was at it. I sensed Jamie's father and mother had both calmed down as Jill made it evident she bore the two no ill will. What strain had existed between Jamie and her parents wasn't present with little Jill and her grandparents.
    
      So it was great pride that I and Jamie enrolled her daughter into the elementary school that had been Andrew's and Melanie's so many years ago. My Asian angel enrolled herself at the local community college, aiming to pick up computer, networking, and information technology (IT) skills in hopes of earning a living at a trade that didn't depend solely on her physical appearance.
    
      I was more than happy to help out, buying her a new desktop and laptop. I even took an extra step in enlisting some help. Cautiously, I introduced Jamie to Melanie (who, despite her gravitation towards cooking, lent herself to learning a lot more about computers than I). I dared to gamble my little darling could help out in more ways than one.
    
      Thankfully, mellow little Melanie caught on quick. She gave me a disapproving look, but went on about it as if it were none of her business. I guess my little darling sensed something I couldn't, or that she knew I was set in pursuing Jamie; however she'd complain, there'd be no dissuading me from going for it. At one point, Melanie did voice her opinion about the whole thing.
    
      "Jamie is very sad Stanley; I really wish I could cheer her up as only Shawn Ellen could."
    
      "Could you do that for me?" I asked, not expecting a sincere answer.
    
      "No!"
    
      I glanced at her with a puzzled look.
    
      "Her happiness, sweetie," Yu-Ching had mimicked many of Jan's endearments for me, "is in pleasing you, you'd then take care of her daughter; I don't think that's right."
    
      "Well, she is a mother," I reminded her. "Jillian comes first."
    
      "But Jamie has feelings too!" Melanie stood up in a huff. She and I spoke no more about it until much later.
    
    ===============================================================================
      BALLIN' THE OLD BALL N' CHAIN
    ===============================================================================
    
      Although she was affectionate and loving towards Melanie (and tolerated Shawn, who demurred to my First most of the time) Janet did feel she needed some quality "us" time. Thanksgiving provided that opportunity. Her parents were out to Reno-Sparks again for another gambling excursion so my First insisted that I stay at her place for a little while. With the two extra days of Thanksgiving appended to the normal weekend, Janet had the house pretty much to herself for four whole days.
    
      "Imagine that. Four whole days of 'you-know-what'," she pawed my crotch as she passed me her spare keys.
    
      So it was with some reluctance that I planned an "early" Thanksgiving dinner with Jamie and Jill on Halloween (right after taking Jill on her first trick-or-treat). I also had to go to more "early"  Thanksgivings with my own family, Janet's family, and Melanie's family (one a week, whatta month). Since it was all a big ass smorgasbord, I didn't even bother cooking for the whole of November; I could subsist on the left-overs alone.
    
      Janet lived in the Parkside district at El Mirasol Place. The district was on the other side of Golden Gate Park (south of Sunset) from where Melanie and I lived. I rode the street car (a fancy name for an urban tram) from the financial district to West Portal (a commerce district serving snobby home owners nearby). From there, I transferred to a motor coach which ran between from West Portal towards the city zoo and beach; Janet's old house was somewhere in between.
    
      "Honey, I'm home," I parroted the stereotypical American husband as I stepped inside.
    
      "You're late." Janet was dressed only in a towel, her bare feet leaving a soft imprint on the lush, white carpet.
    
      "Sorry," I apologized, "Since I'm going to be away this weekend, I wanted to finish up some drawings for a wind-plant in Sacramento."
    
      "Fascinating," Janet sounded anything but as she dressed. "Whaddaya feel like for dinner?"
    
      "Anything goes I guess," I yawned and headed to the washroom to scrub my hands. "Did you want to eat in?"
    
      "Ugh, god no." We both chuckled at that.
    
      "Besides, Xieu Ching's not here to cook," my First came out dressed for a casual night on the town. "You'll have to spoil yourself tonight Stanley."
    
      "Wanna go see what's still open at West Portal?" I asked.
    
      "Yes!" Janet grinned and pulled me towards the door.
    
      West Portal (if you want to visit) lies a few blocks east where U.S. Highway 101 meets Sloat Boulevard. US-101 is the highway that runs north-south from the Golden Gate Bridge down the San Francisco Peninsula past Palo Alto (where Stanford University is) and through San Jose at the southern tip of the Bay Area region and from there all the way to San Diego near the US-Mex border.
    
      Hence, it could have become quite crowded if more travelers knew about it. It was quite popular with some of the college crowd and the Bohemian set, although there was enough gentrification that the place wasn't as "zsapp"* [* Cantonese: Socially cosmopolitan and Bohemian, but with negative overtones] as the Haight-Ashbury. The place was more like New York City's East Village than anything else, only quiet and unassuming and filled with a large number of old people.
    
      Janet and I ate at a quaint little bistro and chatted amicably (and lightly) about work, the house, and up and coming social engagements. To me, it seemed someone was getting married or popping out a kid every other week or so. I was getting dizzy trying to remember all those dates. I supposed that's why Janet used a Palm (or a Blackberry) I forget which. I was glad I hadn't bought one myself; anything I needed to do for work was on my desktop and Jazz discs (though I was migrating most of my crap to external hard drives around that time). I still used Post-It notes on a wall calendar to keep appointments with my contractors.
    
      My Lady Wu refrained from discussing politics and religion. She understood my personal ambivalence about that stuff. We spoke of practical matters and stuck with it. After dinner, we strolled over to the lone theater and watched The Matrix. Although it had been released last year, I had been so busy I had missed it. That, and the fact I didn't care too much for sitting on my ass, were contributing factors for me missing a piece of American culture.
    
      I thought the effects were pretty neat, although the directors clearly had little grasp of the practical effects of actual gunplay. I nearly laughed out loud watching some of the more ridiculous scenes in movie (the rooftop battle comes to mind). If life imitated art, I thought with amusement, I could dress up like a wannabe Goth 'tard and sail through life mumbling cryptic, nonsensical claptrap.
    
      Despite the movie being typical "guy" faire, Janet jumped several times; like me, she had been too busy to go out, so it was her first time as well. I felt her excitement in the darkness of the theater. I suppose the movie was suspenseful at some times. I hadn't taken her to see horror films (I can't abide them myself) or a good suspenseful one for some time. I suppose I had all the excitement I needed with agency work.
    
      "Stanley?" I felt Janet's nails scratching my hand.
    
      "What is it, hun?" I whispered.
    
      "Movie's over," she said. "Let's get outta here."
    
      I blinked. I was so lost in thought I had missed the ending. I never knew what happened to Keanu Reeves' Neo (not that I cared) until Melanie grabbed a BitTorrent of The Matrix for me a few years later. As we stepped out of the theater, I felt a tingling feeling. It felt almost like a premonition or a warning. I cast out the surrounding thoughts and zeroed in on the oddity: 'Injure.' 'Hurt.' 'Kill. Shoot to kill.' 'Revenge.' 'Revenge for Sin Titulo.'
    
      I spotted the car and three people inside. Two were armed with guns. Their car hadn't started moving, not yet. I wondered how long they'd been waiting for us. For me! My heart skipped a beat. If they knew who I was, then they must've followed me from Janet's place!
    
      I didn't devote time trying to solve the mystery yet. I had more pressing concerns at the moment. I couldn't pull Janet back into the theater without scaring her, nor did I want to push her to the ground. Instead, I pitched her over and kissed her fully on the lips, using a parked car's engine block to shield our bodies.
    
      Someone whooped in the background and Janet gave a surprised gasp; however, I was too mentally occupied to care. I reached out with telekinesis and pulled the spark plug wires out from the car under the hood. I quickly shifted focus and began feeling over their weapons: a TEC-9 and a Glock. The TEC-9 was easy: the magazine was metal, so I crimped the top flange (stopping the feed). The Glock's magazine was polymer, which made it a little more resistant to tampering.
    
      I didn't regret my decision because I didn't have much of a choice. I pushed the arm of the TEC-9's user (he was in the back seat) to the head of their getaway driver and pulled the trigger. The single loaded round blew the brains out of the kid all over the windshield.
    
      The loud sound of the gunshot was only rivaled by the screaming of a bystander who saw the two gang-bangers shouting and screaming, and trying (and failing) to start their car. They ditched as soon as they realized the car wouldn't start. As luck would have it, a passing police cruiser (it was a rich neighborhood) immediately hit its lights and the two uniformed cops nabbed the gang members.
    
      "What's going on?" Janet mumbled when she heard the loud bang, shouting, and sirens.
    
      I was so fixated on the situation in my mind, I wasn't aware of our physical stances. I glanced at her and gave her a reassuring grin.
    
      "I don't know," I lied and pulled her back upright.
    
      "Looks like a robbery gone bad," Janet said as she tugged me. "C'mon, Stanley. Let's go."
    
      "Yeah. Sure."
    
      I knew better. The gang-bangers had gotten wind of me and my identity from a cop. I shocked that I knew his face just from the surface memories: Detective Jacob Waters. By the time we got back to Jan's house, I was really worked up from the attempted assault and nearly forgot why I was staying with her that particular weekend. It was bad enough that these gang-bangers knew who I was, they seemed to have found Janet's address as well.
    
      That was unacceptable. I was so angry, I nearly crushed the showerhead in Janet's bathroom. Cox had warned off Waters earlier and I thought that was it. If the cop was going to play hard ball, then I was game. I began fantasizing about the ploy I would use: hot-wire his car's ignition wires to the gas tank (BOOM!), play tricks on his mind when he'd drive his car so he'd speed through an intersection (messy), or simply take control of his mind and force him to commit suicide (been there and done that in Mexico).
    
      I got out and toweled myself dry. I stared at myself in the mirror and was shocked at how angry I had become. I calmed myself. This problem with the cop can wait. The gang-bangers too. If it took them this long to find me, they didn't have much of a network. I pinged the city. Melanie's presence was obscured but I felt she was safe. I knew Janet was safe; I was with her. The thoughts that I had picked from the two gangsters let me mind-spy them. They didn't know what was up but I could see what they saw using detached mind-sight.
    
      So until Monday, I fumed. The police wouldn't release them (they had a weapons charge, a shooting, and possibly murder on hand) and I didn't believe they'd make bail. So, Monday it was. Come Monday there'd be hell to pay. I examined my nails and brushed them clean with a brass nail pick I'd made from left-over model-making materials.
    
      "Stanley?" Janet called from the room, "You ready sweetheart?"
    
      "Almost," I hollered back. I refrained from doing that too much, raising my voice wasn't really my thing unless I was earnestly excited about something, or extremely pissed off.
    
      "Hurry up, baby!" She sounded annoyed. "I can feel myself ovulating."
    
      Great, I sighed. I dried myself thoroughly and used a little talcum powder to make my skin dry and smooth. I dressed in my pajamas and headed to her bedroom. I found Janet in her PJs and sitting patiently on her big bed. A soft light illuminated the whole room.
    
      "You're always late Stanley," she looked at me mischievously. "Don't you know that's impolite?"
    
      "Sorry," I said and glanced at her.
    
      She looked very cute, I thought. Janet was dressed in a pajamas shirt and pants (similar to mine, but with the button openings on the other side; the women's version). Her hair was bundled into two ponytails by cherry red glass hair beads. It made her look a lot younger than her 29 years.
    
      "Like it?" Janet touched her hair beads.
    
      "Yeah." I grinned sheepishly. Despite our age gap being less noticeable as we got older, I was still in awe of her and behaved primly when she was present. Then I remembered tonight's shooting and I visibly darkened.
    
      "You don't remember do you?" she misread my expression.
    
      "Remember what darling?" I touched her bare feet and enjoyed the fragrant scent of her body wash. I felt her muscles and bone through her peach skin.
    
      "You bought these for me," Janet sighed. "You're so forgetful."
    
      "I did?" I scratched my head; I honestly didn't recall too much of it.
    
      "Okay," I finally said, "If you say so."
    
      "You dumb butthole," she growled, "Remember our last night before I headed off to Chicago?"
    
      "Uh, no?" I grinned nervously. "Please don't kill me."
    
      "You bought me these beads when I was leaving," Janet hugged her legs and rested her chin on her knees. "You said you wanted me to wear my hair up when I sucked you off the next time I was in town."
    
      "Oh yeah," I dimly remembered something like that. Man, I was a dumb kid back then.
    
      "I never got a chance to use 'em," her eyes gleamed, "Because things started happening and I forgot where I put 'em."
    
      "Oh, well don't worry about it." I smiled stupidly as I ogled my darling.
    
      "Li-mo gumching-ge li*!" Janet sniffed. [* Cantonese: You've not a shred of affection / compassion!]
    
      "Ngmho-gam kgwong-a Ling-Ling*," I winked. [* Cantonese: Don't talk like that little Ling-Ling (a repetition of the last syllable in a girl's Chinese name often makes her the youngest). Note, this is not a reference to that one particular panda in the Beijing zoo.]
    
      "Fine! Yuguo li-goudam-ge li-haeng mylai." She grinned saucily and leaned back. "Wo-youge liy-mut beilei-eh*." [* Cantonese: If you think you're brave enough, I got a present for ya.]
    
      I took her hint and tugged off her pajama bottoms. I gasped at the sight. Janet's snatch was clipped and smooth save for a small patch of pubic hair. It was like she was sixteen (and I was twelve) all over again.
    
      "Zhoung-ngzhoung-yi-ah?*" she licked her lips lewdly. [* Cantonese: Like what you see? (in this context; literally, it would translate as 'Do you like it?')]
    
      I answered by pressing my lips on hers (both sets). Janet groaned and squealed with pleasure when I began tickling her shaved Oriental slice with my fingers.
    
      "Oh hey big guy," she chuckled and grabbed me. "You're already hard."
    
      "You bet I am." I undid her buttons as she did mine. The shock and surprise of seeing her nude underneath was heightened when I saw her wearing only her cotton pajama top. It was open in the front and I could make out her pear-shaped C-cup sweater puppies peaking out as her body swayed from our amorous activities.
    
      "Lao-kgung li-lei tung wo wan-a*," she whispered as she encircled my waist with her nude legs. [* Cantonese: Come play with me hubby (without the husband portion, it would be a line that a whore would say to her client).]
    
      I obliged and kissed her face, neck and hands. I groaned as my stiff cock was crushed between our two bodies. Janet studied my face and smiled. She teased me with her lips and her lovely lacquered nails. I shivered with delight as she drew a sharp hard line down my back.
    
      "Like it huh?" She grinned as her eyes ogled me. "You're such a pervert, Stanley."
    
      "Look who's talking," I bit her nose gently.
    
      "Hmph." Janet sniffed but she was all smiles. Her eyes glittered with joy as I rocked my hips against hers. My hard rod was pressing against her little nub and she was enjoying the massage-by-cock I was giving her.
    
      "Oooh--oog--gawd," my mature darling's mouth hung open as she panted for breath.
    
      I spat lightly into her mouth then kissed her deeply. Janet responded by violating my mouth with her warm vibrant tongue. She had torn off all my clothes now but she was still half-dressed. She slipped her arm out from one sleeve and embraced me. That was all the urging I needed. I kissed her a few more times then parted a bit so I could see what I was doing. Janet lay down with a sigh. Her face flushed and she took in a sharp breath as I slid into her warm, slick cooze.
    
      "Oh jeeziz." I gritted my teeth. No matter how many times I had done this, I always felt the danger and excitement of putting my unsheathed wang inside a girl's cunt.
    
      It wasn't simply the sheer physical joy but the possibility of what could happen afterwards. Aurora and I were lucky she didn't get pregnant that time I drilled her sweet tender ass back in Shek-Kou (and again in Kowloon). Viktoriya was in-between; while we did things bare-backed, she could push it out of her afterwards. But since she moved to New York, covered sex had become the norm.
    
      So from all the sex I had been having for the past decade plus, I could literally count (on one hand) the times I had bare-backed sex with my lovely Janet.
    
      "What're you thinking about big man?" Janet's sing-song contralto pulled me away from my thoughts.
    
      "Just thinking--ungh--how you never got pregnant after I've--ungh--been fucking you for close to thirteen years," I pumped her diligently while I replied.
    
      "Easy," she pawed me, "Easy there now. Don't talk. Just do me Stanley Chen -- wan-xshie-wo*!" [* Cantonese: Play me to death (literal meaning). If a wife says that, it's pretty much open bare-backed season on her cunt for the husband.]
    
      Janet let out a most unlady-like screech as I grabbed her legs and put them against my torso. She gasped as I began pounding her furiously. I recalled my brief tryst with Jamie with a mix of regret and 'fuck-it' 'yeah-tap-that-ass' attitude. I thought of her daughter Jill and how great it felt to interact with a little one. Jill wasn't my biological daughter, but with Janet, we could have one of our own.
    
      I glanced at my First. Her hands were raised in a futile attempt to slow me down. I admit I was a little too enthusiastic but at the same time, I sensed she was enjoying this with wild abandonment. The pain she felt was vastly outmatched by the sheer pleasure she felt.
    
      "Ohh--fffuuuucck--Staaaan--leee!" Janet's howl was somewhere between asking me to stop and begging me to go on. I caught her two hands and pinned them to the bed. Her dark eyes flashed me wanton lust. Her nails dug into my hand as my thrusts began to slow and become more forceful.
    
      "Ooh that's right," she cooed, eyes were wide as saucers. "Do it. That's it. Cum in me big boy."
    
      I grunted as I thrust her a few more times. Janet lay back, her eyes watching me concentrate on my dirty deed. This was it, I thought. This definitely was going to be it.
    
      Exactly what "it" was I didn't know. A lot of blood had left my thinking brain and went elsewhere. All I knew was that I was climaxing and my first darling was going to take it all in. Janet's eyes went wide as she felt a new warmth invade her body. I sputtered breathless curses as I collapsed atop her. I stayed like that for just a little bit before I rolled off her, pulling her atop of me.
    
      "Shu-fook-xy-le*?" she murmured. [* Cantonese: Feel better now?]
    
      I was so winded I could only nod.
    
      "Good," Janet chuckled and slept on top of me, happy and content.
    
      For the rest of the weekend, I balled Janet nightly with joy and without worry. We weren't married yet but we knew we wanted children. We figured we'd cross that bridge (the marriage bullshit) once we came to it. We spent Friday reliving our early days on the beach and peeking into our old campuses; Jan's first then mine (as mentioned earlier, we had attended different schools).
    
      Saturday we took up horse riding near Fort Funston. I didn't really get their thoughts, but I realized I could zap animal synapses. I had to when Janet's horse nearly bolted from her. Thankfully, neither she or the animal were hurt. On Sunday, we roller-bladed to the arboretum (The Simpsons: 'tree place') in Golden Gate Park and made a running tally of how many guys and gals we'd do if we weren't so exclusive. I was surprised her tally was nearly three times mine.
    
      "Jealous?" she laughed and teased me.
    
      "Hardly." I grinned and gave her a sly wink. "My wish came true."
    
      "Hmph!" Janet made a face and took off without me.
    
      I chased her down and tackled her at the concert hall between the old Academy of Sciences and the De Young Museum. I pounced her so fiercely that a mounted patrolman thought I was attacking her. Janet was still laughing hysterically when the cop rode up. When he realized we were just a couple clowning around, he rode off shaking his head.
    
    ===============================================================================
      A CIVIL MATTER
    ===============================================================================
    
      Monday, I took a longer lunch and headed down to 7th Street and Bryant. I had no real business inside the Criminal Courthouse (and County Jail) but being there increased my level of sensitivity to the minds within. I lounged outside and entered a telepathic trance. I pinged the minds within, careful only to look but not touch. I found the two gangsters in lock-up as I mind-hopped from person to person.
    
      Their minds told me nothing about the crimes they were being charged with. I could've cared less save that I wanted to know if their compatriot was alive or simply brain dead. Since I had established no earnest psychic connection with any of the three before I pushed things along, I wasn't aware if they were "alive" or "dead".
    
      Digging a little deeper (this causes a 'normal' to reflect on memories) the two thugs knew where I worked. Using that, they knew where Janet lived. Heck, they even knew where Melanie was because they had followed me home. I knew they knew that they got their assignment from someone named Carlos in the hierarchy. He was the one who had introduced Detective Waters to them. I didn't care too much about all that; all that mattered to me was there were gang-bangers who knew where my darlings were (and who they were). That knowledge sentenced them all to death.
    
      But how to kill them without causing suspicion, I wondered. This wasn't the border and I couldn't simply stage an accident. Deaths in a popular American city like this were bound to attract law enforcement. As I sat and mulled over my problem, Tseng stepped out from the courthouse. What the fuck? The old man stiffened, turned and saw me. He gestured for me to follow, and I did.
    
      'Did you incite this event?' He thought-spoke as we strode back towards my office. We walked not together but along the same direction and in sight of one another. Such was the secrecy of the empire.
    
      'That depends on whom you ask.' I tried to rub my weariness from my eyes. 'Do you remember the days we were at Sherwood?'
    
      'Yes.' Tseng thought a note of confusion to me. 'What has this got to do with it?'
    
      'Let me explain.' I said, and did the best I could. From the bank robbery to Jacob Waters and the agency's intervention. I skipped over Sherwood and went onto to explain the presence of Waters with the gang-bangers and how the thugs tried to ambush me outside the theater. I had the feeling Waters was out to get me.
    
      Tseng was silent for a while then queried. 'Are you sure it was he?'
    
      'Almost positive.' I formed an answer.
    
      'It's not Bethany or Carrie-Ann or Rick Herman?' Tseng mentioned Masquerade, along with two other younger empire citizens who lived nearby (but were not known to the agency).
    
      'Didn't seem so.' I thought. 'Someone new you think?'
    
      'Only one way to find out isn't there?' Tseng looked at me coolly. 'You suspect Jacob Waters. Go ask him. You don't need my say-so.'
    
      'I thought I'd check around first.' I thought-spoke then added. 'Especially since you're here.'
    
      'Utter nonsense.' The little old man regarded me contemptuously. 'You suspect Waters, so follow up already.'
    
      'Just being careful.' I chafed at being treated like a novice.
    
      'As careful as you were with Joseph Pincelli?' Tseng thought-spoke casually.
    
      'He had it coming.' It didn't surprise me that he knew about Las Vegas. I wondered how long I could shroud this from Viktoriya.
    
      'You almost got away with it. You forgot to execute the man with the twisted neck.' My mentor's lecture was prompted more from covering up an annoyance to the empire than from looking after my well-being.
    
      'How so?' I pinged my question.
    
      'Pincelli's cause of death was plausible, but you missed that one bodyguard.'
    
      'Gotcha.' Then I wondered. 'How'd you know?'
    
      'Coroner's report from the FBI. Shoot those you neutralize like him next time. Or stick something in their body. Those meat doctors will think one of their own did it.' Tseng continued. 'The agency is watching you.'
    
      'You mean you're watching me.' I corrected him.
    
      'No. Walk with me.' Tseng stopped and waited for the traffic light to change. 'You've met Masquerade; she's the nicest asset you'll meet aside from me --' I nearly laughed out loud, prompting an annoyed glance from him '-- Ghost Light, and Mirage.'
    
      'Mirage?' I thought. 'Who the hell is that?'
    
      'Phillipa Roget.' Tseng crossed the street and I followed him a few paces behind. 'But never mind her for now.' A pause, then, 'For now, head back to work. And check up on Waters.'
    
      I walked ahead of him and turned towards the building where Ferguson Graphics. So the agency managed to recruit Phillipa, I thought. That explained the recent reduction of her email.
    
      'Listen closely. There are other parties in the agency who are very unpleasant.' Tseng followed me. 'Since better records are being maintained, agency analysts have seen a marked increase in curious and unexplainable incidents across the globe. There are elements in the agency who are onto us Stanley. We need to be more careful than before.'
    
      I turned a block down and began walking on busy Market Street. 'So you're saying the number of us haven't changed but because more records are being kept, we could be discovered?'
    
      'No, but you are half correct.' Tseng interrupted. 'Both populations are growing -- "normals" and citizens. One reason is because we are all living longer. But there are other factors. You are correct that the more records there are, the greater the chances of a pattern emerging.'
    
      I got a slight sense that my mentor was worried.
    
      'We need to be careful.' He thought-spoke. 'Violence incites more violence. It should be used only against those suitably armed.'
    
      'In all those incidents, they were.' I reminded him.
    
      'And it would depend on the setting.' Tseng's mood took on an almost fatherly concern. 'You were correct in one assessment when you acted: you are no longer on the border. In civilized areas, you need to stay your hand.'
    
      I kept silent as I harkened back to Tseng's methods on the New York Thruway. To me, that was overkill.
    
      'Pogroms in the past most likely occurred when those in the invisible empire got over-confident.' The older man cautioned. 'We were nearly exterminated.'
    
      'I'll do that.' I thought soberly then queried. 'But what do I do about Waters? About the gangsters?'
    
      'You needn't worry about the hoodlums.' Tseng thought-spoke. 'They're due to be arraigned in court this week but I did you a favor and took care of them. Just look into Jacob Waters. He's overstepping his bounds.'
    
      'Wait.' I dropped into a Jamba Juice to buy a fruit shake. 'What did you do to those bangers?'
    
      'Slow clot. Should be brain damaged in about a day's time.' Tseng smiled and spoke audibly with a pretty air-headed blonde tourist who tapped him for directions to Fisherman's Wharf.
    
      'You set them up for a stroke?' I put in an order for a strawberry banana smoothie, paid in cash, and waited.
    
      'Yes. Watch the news. Should be tomorrow night or so.' Tseng was giving me the short shrift as he deftly grazed the girl's hands when he held her map. He broadcast the two thugs' personal information (including docket numbers) and wished me luck before he walked off with the girl in tow.
    
      Great, I thought with sarcasm. Thanks for keeping a low profile. But I suppose a bespectacled forty-something Chinese fellow with thinning hair and a slight paunch was theoretically capable of fucking hot young twenty year olds in the privacy of a hotel room. I knew prostitutes (escorts and streetwalkers) both in and around San Francisco certainly did.
    
      I headed back to the office, labored for the rest of the day, and took off. Jacob Waters worked at the 6th Avenue** precinct. It was the closest one to the bank robbery and it looked like a classic police precinct from a the movies.
    
      [** AUTHOR'S NOTE: The City and County of San Francisco has both numbered streets and numbered avenues. Streets run east-west and are in the city's eastern area (old San Francisco). Avenues run north-south and are west of the city's Western Addition, going towards the beach. That area was developed in the years during and after the Second World War.]
    
      I hopped off the bus on 6th, right across from the Kaiser Permanente French Campus (it was not a trauma hospital but an administrative and training facility). I thought about giving Yu-Ching a call to say I was late, but I remembered that cell phone calls were closely monitored by the telecommunications company. The agency would probably log all my calls if they wanted to.
    
      I sat at the bus station and slipped into my second telepathic trance of the day. As I had done before, I pinged the minds within, careful only to look but not touch. I used detached mind-sight (blurry but it works to get around) to locate Waters' desk. I then employed remote biointroscopy and read everything I could feel on his desk.
    
      The only thing interesting was a file he had started on me. Apart from my driving, insurance, and employment records, there was little else to go on. Suddenly the file moved; I nearly tipped over from the disorientation. I drew back my focus and found Jacob Waters had taken it. He was moving it. I jumped into his mind and surreptitiously followed him that way. He went from his desk to a back room where there was a large machine.
    
      Ah, I realized. An industrial cross-cutting paper shredder. Waters turned the machine on, threw my file in and lingered only long enough to see the shredder do its work. But why?
    
      I dug a bit deeper and found it: the police report from the West Portal shooting came through. Waters knew he was involved and was afraid that Carlos or the suspects would blab. He was afraid he was going to get Internal Affairs involved. The detective headed back to his desk, locked his computer and left for the night. I withdrew my focus and caught the next bus in a slight daze.
    
      So if Waters was somehow out to get me, I thought and rode home in silence, I had to wonder why. My mind was still juggling Waters' home address when I was jumped back home. It wasn't anything unpleasant. I just wasn't expecting it because I was so distracted.
    
      "Unca' Stanwee!" Jill skipped across the floor and nearly rammed her head into my balls.
    
      Oh sweet Jesus, I blinked. What the hell --?
    
      "Hello Stanley," Jamie waved then motioned for her daughter to sit.
    
      "Stanley guo-guo," Melanie bounded up triumphantly to me.
    
      "Hi," I waved then whispered. "Yu-Ching, what's going on?"
    
      "I thought this'd cheer up everyone," she beamed brightly. "Am I right?"
    
      Oh my sweet Little Chen. I wanted to shake a little sense into her but realized that she could only see the good in people. I silently thanked the powers that be Janet had other engagements tonight. Once we sat down to a meal, I slowly wrung the story out of Melanie and her hair brained scheme. Yu-Ching normally had school daily with Monday, Wednesday, and Friday being her lab (working at CCSF's cafeteria kitchen) and Tuesdays and Thursdays being her full day lectures (general education).
    
      However, today was an exception. There was a drop of students needing cafeteria food because it was the Monday following Thanksgiving. This meant all she did was prepare some ingredients for the next day, put them in the refrigerator and headed home to hit the books. Somehow, she had run into Jamie and invited her over to my place. Had Janet been around, I think my head would've exploded from a combination of my First's (possible) rage and Melanie's extravagent naivete.
    
      "Are you okay?" Jamie asked.
    
      I sensed she wanted to touch me but held back, afraid what it might signal. I reached out and gently patted her hand.
    
      "I'm fine," I said. "Just a little surprised that's all. But I'm glad you can make it."
    
      The sultry Asian beauty smiled as did my little darling. Jill was too busy popping chunks of sweet yam to notice.
    
      "How's class?" I looked at mother and daughter both.
    
      "I'm getting the hang of it," Jamie's smile grew broader. "Melanie's a big help; I think you'd ace this networking class."
    
      "Meh," my youngest lovely shrugged. "I can't stand to do that all day. Makes my head spin."
    
      "Of course," Jamie laughed, "You go a mile a minute about it. I can barely keep up!"
    
      "And how about you Jill?" I asked. She was about to answer when Jamie tapped her gently on the hand.
    
      "Don't talk with your mouth full," the young mother spoke sternly. "Finish first. Uncle Stanley will wait."
    
      And wait I did. Jill swallowed with flourish and then spoke about her day: how many crayons she broke, how many pictures she colored, how many times she visited the water fountain, how many times she had to trace her new name, and on and on and on. I guessed shuffling between Jamie and her grandparents meant she wanted someone new to talk to. When Jill finished, my food had grown lukewarm.
    
      "Sorry about that." Jamie wore a brave grin. "My mom says she talks her ear off given the chance. She can't wait for me to come home and take Jill off her hands. Jill's my new secret weapon now."
    
      "Aw, don't say that," I laughed then asked Jill, "Is por-por* [* Cantonese: Grandmother/maternal] treating you well?"
    
      Jill nodded, her mouth stuffed full of sweet toasted yam again. I grinned and glanced at Melanie, who was staring at me.
    
      "Remind you of anyone?" I asked her.
    
      Melanie's cheeks dimpled as blushed. Jamie caught the by-play and soured. I caught stray thoughts: 'Wow she must've been young if Jill reminds him of her.' 'Shit.' 'Is he still into that?' I needed to placate her fear and quickly. I rose and headed over to the sink to grab a glass of water. As I went past Jamie, I gently grazed her bare shoulder and calmed her. I'd deal with her fears in private later.
    
      It was a Monday night -- a school night -- so after dinner, I took Jamie and Jill home (their apartment was a mere twelve blocks away). I spent a little time with Jill in the restroom (with the door open) reminding her about basics of tooth care. She stood her on a stool so she could see herself in the vanity mirror. After a few tries, Jill got most of what I wanted to get across. I rinsed my hands and fingers once more after we were done. Jamie tucked Jillian into bed before we headed out into her small living room. The place very much reminded me of my place but (believe it or not) even smaller.
    
      "Thank you Stanley," she said. "And Melanie too. Shoot! I forgot about her."
    
      "That's okay," I said. "You can always catch her on campus anyway."
    
      Jamie nodded and stretched until her joints popped. My heart skipped a beat as I watched her sweet mommy mounds were held up by a sports bra, making them seem even larger than average.
    
      "Hey, I want to talk to you about something," I pulled her to the couch.
    
      "What is it?" she sat down beside me.
    
      "It's about Melanie," I said quietly.
    
      "Oh?" Jamie looked at me. "Is it some deep dark secret?"
    
      "Not exactly," I chuckled. "Look, I know how young she is and what it appears to be."
    
      "Yeah," she lowered her eyes. I sensed she was bracing herself for the worst.
    
      "What happened between her and me was a long time ago," I gave her arm a comforting squeeze. "And I hang around schoolyards only for one reason: to pick up my own kids from school."
    
      "You don't have any kids," Jamie eyed me warily.
    
      "Jillian would count," I said and heard her inhale sharply. "I just don't have that luxury in my schedule yet."
    
      "Why Stanley," she murmured. "What would the others think?"
    
      "I dunno," I shrugged. "I can't say what might happen."
    
      "Then don't," Jamie leaned against me. "I'm not worth it."
    
      "Some people are," I measure my words with care. "Besides, you met Melanie. She's very cool with you."
    
      "How can you be so sure?" she eyed me inquisitively.
    
      "Trust me."
    
      I grinned and kissed her. Jamie tried to push me off but I pitched her into my arms and buzzed her silly. The sexy young mother swooned as my fingers found her snatch. Because she had shaved, waxed, and plucked her pubes so thoroughly, only a soft fine down and a few thick orphan strands now greeted me there. I pulled her jeans down to her ankles so I could get at her lovely shaved snatch. My fingers slipped easily into Jamie's tight folds. She uttered a pent-up sigh as she parted her legs to accommodate my hand. I pulled the rest of her jeans and panties off and toss them to the other couch. I spooned Jamie, my hands cupping her breasts and twiddling her sweet little clit.
    
      "Oh Stanley--you're makin' me--OH!!"
    
      Jamie was shivering not from the cold but from on-set of one of her fabulous, raging orgasms. She reached back, her nails clawed my dress shirt then she dug her fingers into my hair. Jamie gasped and made little noises as only a woman could while I finger-fucked her shapely body. I was too lazy to get the saran wrap and she was too lazy to pull out a condom, so I kept my pants on and settled for her naked ass grinding my aching boner through several layers of clothing.
    
      Jamie finally orgasmed but she was surprisingly quiet about it. I couldn't blame her; Jillian was asleep in the adjacent room. Her ejaculate though, soaked the crotch of my slacks through and through. There was no way I was going to wear them tomorrow to work (and the dry cleaning cost me $25). Jamie's ass bucked several times then she turned around and kissed me wetly on the lips.
    
      "Feel better now?" I asked her.
    
      "Mnn-hmm," Jamie sighed. "Do you have to go home tonight?"
    
      "Imagine the talk if I don't," I chided and patted her rosy bottom.
    
      "But you didn't cum," she studied me. "Want me to suck you off?"
    
      "I should wash up first," I said.
    
      "Okay wait," Jamie rolled off me. "Let me do it."
    
      We headed into her restroom where she drew a hot pool of water in the sink. I groaned as she applied the hot towel to my aching cock and groin. Up close, I could see Jamie had cleaned up a lot of her body. Some of the calligraphy on her nails were missing; I could only make out "oi" (love) and "zhjee" (child/neutral) on her right hand's index and ring fingers and "oi" (love) and "k'ah" (family) on her left hand's index and ring fingers.
    
      Jamie's toe nails were cleared of anything save simple gloss and bore no inscriptions. However, her tattoos (the dragon on her calf and the writing on her back) remained. The glitter that she'd applied so liberally was gone, leaving her peach-colored skin creamy and glossy smooth. Only that beauty mark on her cheek remained, but it made her more beautiful, not less.
    
      "You look like a deer caught in the headlights," she laughed as she toyed with my cock.
    
      "Pretty girls always do that to me," I smacked my forehead comically. "Must be a rare kind of disease."
    
      She blushed and laughed as she jerked me harder. I shivered when she kissed the tip of my hard-on.
    
      "Or maybe it's just a strange venom," Jamie's tongue flicked me delicately. "I'd better suck it out."
    
      I grunted as she rolled my skin back with her moist warm lips. I leaned my arms against the sides of the bathroom's open door as the sultry Asian siren swallowed my cock whole. I was disappointed. For all her looks, Jamie didn't really know how to suck dick at all. I suppose the rest of the band and I had more than our fair share of practice over the years.
    
      Instead of focusing on the edge of the glans (not glands but glans, look it up) where the nerve bundles were, she contented with simply swallowing my cock. I closed my eyes, thought back to the great fuck session Jamie and I had only a few weeks before and remembered her sweet face. She was so full of joy and pleasure when I rode her, I couldn't help but ...
    
      "Nngh," I sighed as my balls tightened up and shot a small load into her mouth.
    
      Jamie clutched my buttocks as I spasmed a few times against her face. I withdrew, my cock drawing out a silver thread of spit from her mouth. She stood, grabbed a wash cloth and cleaned me off.
    
      "Better?" she asked with a twinkle in her eye.
    
      "Yes, very," I kissed her. "See you soon?"
    
      "I hope so," Jamie stifled a burp.
    
      We both laughed then kissed again at the door. She had very sweet cum-breath. When I got back home, I was fairly tired. I hit the shower and washed off the scent of messy love-making with Jamie. As great as it was to keep that odor around, I found I felt refreshed, and ready for more (if were physically possible). I dried myself off and headed into the darkness that surrounded my bed. As I neared it, something moved in the dark.
    
      "Li-fan-lei-na*?" It was Melanie. [* Cantonese: You're back?]
    
      I felt around and flicked on the night light. My eyes adjusted to the dim green illumination. Melanie was in my bed, her small slim body curled under the covers. I could see her bare shoulder peeking out just past the edge of the blanket.
    
      "Hey," I shook her gently. "Don't you have a home to go to?"
    
      Melanie cast me a baleful backwards glance and whined, "Guo-guo wo dunglei dungdou wo moon-xy-le*." [* Cantonese: Brother, I grew bored waiting for you.]
    
      "I had to put Jillian to bed."
    
      I was stretching the truth a bit. Little Chen sighed threw back the covers to show me she wasn't wearing a damn thing at all, "Lei-xiang-chong-a-darling*." [* Cantonese: Come to bed "darling".]
    
      I sucked in my breath and eyed the clock. It was nearly 10 P.M. and we both had work and school the next day. I hesitated only for a moment as my eyes flew over Yu-Ching's tight college girl's body. I succumbed to her wiles and slipped into bed. As the man of the house, I sure set one heckuva bad example, as both of us ran late the next day.
    
    ===============================================================================
      REACHING OUT
    ===============================================================================
    
      By the end of 2000, I had finally gotten the last of the tenants out from the building site and into new apartments. Demolition was scheduled to start but I procrastinated on it. The place was to be cleared and construction was to start as soon as the site was clear (the planning commission had approved my plans in October thanks to a little mental persuasion) but I had my reasons.
    
      I wanted to fly Viktoriya out so she and I could do something we both wanted to do for some time: destroy a building with telekinesis. Unfortunately, she was out of the country on competition in Canada. After my trip to the Big Apple, Viktoriya had met a new dance partner by the name of Cristobel. Her personal disappointment in not getting pregnant coupled with my long absences were balanced by her increased activity in dance. Besides, Cristobel and Vika were tearing it up, and she seemed happier, so I bid her my best and settled down to do dirty work myself.
    
      'Show me when you do it Stanislav!' She thought-spoke to me.
    
      So one early December morning, I got up at 4 A.M. (7 A.M. her time) and proceeded to do as much damage as I could on a building that didn't really harm anyone. It took eighty solid cracks on the existing timbers to weaken the structure, but it didn't fall. Instead, the building began leaning so dangerously, I had to shore it up again by ripping out the existing floors and doing some quick wire work.
    
      The work went a little slower than I wanted because Viktoriya was practically screaming in my mind for me to get out before I was buried alive. I had to cut her off to get the job done. Her final thought before our link went dark was that she thought I'd been crushed to death. Thankfully, I did enough repairs in time to keep the place from falling apart (and prevent any collateral damage to the surrounding houses). However, Vika was close to a break-down when I contacted her once I was safely out on the street.
    
      'You shit! You foolish shit!' She was on the verge of tears. 'You had me so scared!'
    
      'Sorry, dorogoi.' I was apologetic. 'I got carried away that's all. Everything's fine now.'
    
      Viktoriya angrily blocked me out her mind and we didn't speak for the rest of that day. That was fine for I had work to do. I called in a demo crew and trashed the place. Then, I hired contractors, and finalized the plans and instructions. My work load at Ferguson hadn't changed, so I was able to manage work flow well. I desperately wanted to visit Viktoriya to comfort her in person, but I couldn't spare the time.
    
      My Slavic sweetheart wasn't the only one who got gypped out of motherhood. Despite spending one of the best (and longest) weekends we've had together, Janet hadn't gotten knocked up either. My First's insistence on paying me house calls meant that I couldn't stop over by Jamie's apartment when ever I wanted to spend time with my secret Sixth and to dote on her daughter.
    
      With so much to do, I still found the time to finish off the mess Jacob Waters started earlier in the year. I paid him an unexpected call at his own house, but I didn't actually "go" there. Tseng and I had done it before at range by mentally attacking targets on the border during REM sleep. So I waited until Waters had finished his business and had nodded off before I made my move.
    
      'Hello Detective Waters.' I formed an illusory apparition in his mind. To him, I was sitting in his lit-up bedroom pointing a silenced handgun at his head when in fact, I was at the Java Island coffee house sitting in plain sight of their new security camera and several customers enjoying a cup of coffee and browsing my laptop. My screen of course, was not shown to the camera because it was simply displaying random artwork. How's that for an alibi?
    
      'The fuck?' The cop yelled out his thoughts and stood up -- or he thought he did. Waters was asleep but it was essentially a semi-lucid dream.
    
      'You've been looking for me.' I asked. 'Why?'
    
      'Breaking and entering? Holding a cop hostage?' Waters seethed. 'You're getting yourself quite a record there.'
    
      I couldn't just shoot him and have him die in his sleep (although it was convenient). I cocked the imaginary gun in my imaginary hand. It was convincing enough that he cringed. Not wanting to lose the initiative, I continued with my query.
    
      'Getting away won't be a problem.' I said coldly. 'Agency business pre-empts your business. My life pre-empts yours. Now answer my question: why have you been looking for me?'
    
      Waters' dream-self wore a confused look (it was more like I was picking up on his confusion) and he stared at me dully. 'That marshal boss of yours Nicholas Champion? He called on me. Said you were involved in the bank some how. And that I should asking the Sin Titulo if they knew anything about you.'
    
      'Called on you?' I asked him, 'Or called you, as in by telephone?'
    
      'Called on.' Detective Waters was calmer now. 'Just came into the precinct and took me to lunch.'
    
      Interesting, I hid my inner thoughts from the dream-scape. So Cox was either trying to dig up more dirt and screw with me, or someone impersonating him was. Bethany would be the only person I'd know who could do that, but I'd not seen her mimic someone significantly larger or smaller than her size.
    
      Then again, I'd not seen her do anything save imitate people's faces and voices. Perhaps she was hiding some of her gifts as I was.
    
      'Well detective.' I rose. 'Your little stunt nearly killed my fiancee, not to mention possible bystanders. You think about that?'
    
      I wondered if Cox's lecture to me about bystanders was just for show. Surely he'd have guessed involving gangs would've meant collateral damage?
    
      'I know.' Waters was remorseful. 'That's why I shredded your file just today. I made a mistake. I'm sorry.'
    
      'We're not out of the woods yet Waters.' I said.
    
      'What do you mean by "we"?' The detective inquired.
    
      'I still know of your involvement.' I said coolly. I didn't like Waters. He reminded me of bullies I had trouble with when I was younger. 'The two gang-bangers at county and Sin Titulo are still after me. They have some addresses I don't want them to have.'
    
      'I suppose so.' Waters' dream-self was sitting on the edge of his bed now. 'What do you want me to do? I'm not going to risk my job.'
    
      'I'll call you.' I rose and turned off the imaginary lights. 'We'll meet up.'
    
      'Wait! Can't you tell me where?' Waters' sleeping consciousness protested but I cut him off.
    
      'Sleep. Tomorrow we'll talk.' I flicked off the imaginary light with my imaginary gun's muzzle in his bedroom dream-scape. The detective slipped into a deeper REM sleep as I receded from his mind.
    
      So Tseng was right about the agency, I thought darkly. Well they and Brian Cox just messed with the wrong man. I called Waters' desk the next day and arranged a meet. We met in a bathroom at Golden Gate Park. Quite the queer place to do so (homosexual men often met in such places for sexual encounters) but that served its purpose. We were undisturbed as I laid out the terms of our agreement.
    
      I needed Waters' help in finding the other Sin Titulo that he spoke to, as well as any odd slips of the tongue he might've had with Brian Cox-slash-Nicholas Champion. In return, I'd mention nothing to Internal Affairs. We both wanted to be left alone and move on with our lives. Waters agreed then confided that the two arrested thugs had died the night before in county jail. Some sort of seizure. It didn't surprise me that Tseng delivered.
    
      The detective suspected something when their deaths were treated with a hush-hush silence. He only knew because he was the godfather of one of the patrolmen who made the arrest and asked off-hand about the upcoming arraignment this morning. Still, I breathed relief. At least Tseng held up his end of the bargain. Waters was effectively neutralized as a threat. All I needed to do now was to clean out the rest of the Sin Titulo.
    
      "You do that," Waters shrugged, "and another gang just moves in. These are street gangs Mr. Chen. A dime a dozen."
    
      Being called "Mr. Chen" made me old. Old like my father. Or Tseng. I shrugged off my discomfort and spoke.
    
      "You let me take care of Sin Titulo," I said. "And be wary of Mr. Champion detective. He is not a Federal marshal."
    
      "I gathered as much by now," Waters nodded. "So you CIA (Central Intelligence Agency) or something?"
    
      "Yes, something." I held up a finger and smiled. "It's something you don't worry about, so you can sleep well at night."
    
      "Yeah about that," Waters chuckled. "I checked my doors and windows and I couldn't see how you got in."
    
      "It's a trade secret my son," I winked and swiped the line Sean Connery used in "The Rock".
    
      Waters and I shook before we parted. It was a good thing we did too. I needed new friendly contacts for the invisible empire, and Detective Jacob Waters was just a start.
    
    ===============================================================================
      COPYRIGHT: 2009. THIS WORK IS CONSIDERED PRIVATE AND ITS DISTRIBUTION IS
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                 PLEASE CHECK WITH YOUR LOCAL LAWS BEFORE CREATING OR DISTRIBUTING
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         AUTHOR: MAXIMILLIAN ZHANG
    
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    ===============================================================================
    


	4. Invisible Empire - Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stanley is an average kid - easily distracted, lazy, and unremarkable. Then he discovers he has not just a power, but several powers. Creepy abilities that can't be fully understood, or even mastered. Trouble begins when he starts using his powers, and in doing so, Stanley will meet Davey (from Steven Gould's 'Jumper' novel) and the Roget family (from Robert Cormier's 'Fade').
> 
> Many of the other characters are drawn from my personal past, although many more are simply stock characters (this is a porn story after all). I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
    
    
    ===============================================================================
      LEGAL DISCLAIMER
    ===============================================================================
    
    The following literary work is one of historic fiction. While certain elements may be recognized as based on actual events, the characters and personal events are fictitious. No actual persons were involved in the creation of this fictional work, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is pure coincidence.
    
    Certain characters portrayed within this work are copyrighted to Gould (1993) and Cormier (1988). The author wishes to express his deep gratitude towards the aforementioned authors for giving him creative inspiration when still a young man, and to stretch his imaginations beyond one's own reality. For this, and the countless other aspiring writers in the mainstream and underground markets you've inspired, the author sincerely thanks you. No malice or slight was intended by the willful inclusion of your marvelous creations into this work.
    
    This work is intended for adults, and features situations, dialogue, and descriptions that are unsuitable for minors. Please be mindful of your local laws and customs in regards to distributing or dissemination of obscene material. Thank you.
    
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                       Pain pays the income of each precious thing.
    
                            --William Shakespeare (Rape of Lucrece)
    
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      AN INVISIBLE EMPIRE
    ===============================================================================
    
      You can see us, but you do not know where we are.
    
      You can hear us, but you do not know what we are.
    
      You can even speak with us, but you will not know who we are.
    
      We are an invisible empire, a secret kingdom, and we rule the world.
    
                                     =======
      -----------
      PREVIOUSLY:
      -----------
    
      Stanley develops his gifts further, and cements his relationships with his lovers. He also participates in a major agency operation that ends with mixed results. A talent named Phillipa is recruited but at a cost Stanley regards as "excessive".
    
      On a more personal level, both Viktoriya and Janet try for motherhood. While Stanley naturally indulges the two women's every whim, each meets with varying success. He also reconnects with an old classmate by the name of Jamie Young during a trip to Las Vegas.
    
      In an ensuing dispute with the classmate's employer, Stanley commits a blatant act of violence and attempts to cover up the incident with his powers. The incident wins mild censure from Tseng, who issues a dire warning the invisible empire is being watched by a powerful enemy.
    
      Stanley takes in Jamie and her daughter at first out of necessity, but he soon treats them like he would family. Towards the end of the year 2000, he begins assembling his own network of friendly contacts beyond the agency's and the empire's control.
    
    ===============================================================================
      IT STARTED WITH A BANG
    ===============================================================================
    
      The year 2001 has always remained bitter-sweet for our family. Everyone experienced their share of joy and an equal amount of sorrow. I believed that was the year my family _became_ a family, but it came at a ghastly cost.
    
      I began the year by dealing with some old problems using unseen (and unseemly) methods. The Sin Titulo gang, which retaliated against me and two of my darlings for foiling their bank robbery earlier that year, had literally disappeared from the face of the earth. All it took were some questions in the right channels before they were living on borrowed time.
    
      Killing them (physically) however, was a problem. I didn't need to be implicated in anything unsavory, so I had to resort to a different method: I mind-wiped the Sin Titulo. After I had tracked them down one by one, each gang-banger "died" in the sense that I erased their episodic memories -- those types of memories that held one's identity.
    
      I was rather crude in my methods at first (possibly setting up the initial victims for aneurisms later in life) but I got progressively more adept as I worked through their ranks. I surgically removed almost all of their long-term episodic and explicit memories to insure me and my darlings' would remain unknown. I left them with their semantic and procedural memories (or what I could; as I said, I was over-zealous early on).
    
      The Sin Titulo were essentially hit with amnesisa. I released them without their identification, photos, and credit cards (the cards I shredded as a precaution, but I left whatever pocket money they had) where it was convenient.
    
      The final few members of the gang let me practice my ability to "mind-hop" from one victim to another through passive mind-sight. This way, I didn't even need to touch someone before I could invade their mind. Scary stuff. The gang-bangers had hidden themselves after their buddies had mysteriously become retarded or forgetful. I tracked them all down and mercilessly sacked their minds.
    
      In Detective Waters, I didn't make a new enemy, but instead made a new non-empire "asset". Jacob Waters was only a robbery and assault detective, but he knew a lot more about the seedier underbelly of San Francisco than I did. He would be my first -- but not the last -- helpful 'normal' I would have a working relationship with.
    
      Waters' information had revealed someone in the agency, my handler Brian Cox (that wild man), was investigating me. Checking in on my activities and the like. For all I knew, they had me under surveillance day and night while I shuttled from one place to the next, checking in on my five darlings. Wait. Did I say five? I meant six -- all six. Well, to be specific, six and a half. You'll see why.
    
      One of the most pleasant surprises the week leading up to New Year's 2001 was when I got a surprise visitor. I was in the tub, but fully dressed. I was testing myself, shrouding my body with as much repelling force as I could muster, and seeing if I could immerse myself in liquid without getting wet when the doorbell rang. To my credit, the wall of water around me barely wavered as I climbed out of the tub. I popped the drain plug with telekinesis and answered the door.
    
      "Viktoriya?" I gasped as my Slavic siren marched in, bags in hand.
    
      'Kiss me you fool!'
    
      Viktoriya let drop her bags and threw her arms around me, driving me against the wall with mad little kisses. I noticed she floated the bags neatly into a small pile next to the old sofa. She was still pissed about the demolition incident a few weeks before and she showed it, a demonstration which ended with our clothing scattered all over the room. Afterwards, she admonished me aloud -- a good signal that she was seriously concerned.
    
      "Don't you _ever_ scare me like that again Stanislav!" She bit my ear tenderly as to drive home her point.
    
      I was too spent to reply with anything save a grunt and a nod. I probably should've paid more attention to my exhaustion, and kept my mental guard up, but I couldn't. Not with the healthy naked girl straddling my cock. Viktoriya immediately sensed I had a new squeeze toy and began pestering me about Jamie. Yep. That holiday season was going to prove to be a bit hectic.
    
      I spent the more family-oriented Christmas with Jamie and Jillian. Jill secretly coveted some toy doll about half her size. It was an easy snatch since it cost upwards of $500 dollars; it was out of reach for most parents. Her mother scolded me privately for spoiling the girl, but I didn't mind. By now, I treated Jill as my own.
    
      Jamie knew of my other obligations and stayed mum on her part. The one gift I knew she wanted was something I couldn't have just picked up right off the shelf: she wanted a stable lifestyle. Instead, I bought a small $1000 fifteen year T-bond (U.S. Treasury Bond) and gave it to her for Jill's college.
    
      "It's not much," I seemed more unhappy about it than she. "But it's a start."
    
      "Oh you didn't have to." Jamie hid her disappointment well. "Thank you, Stanley."
    
      Of course, I was no fool. There was a jade bracelet and necklace set Jamie had saw once when we were browsing the Stonestown mall. It was unusual to see a jade emporium in a Western mall, but one had opened recently to cater to the upwardly mobile Asian population.
    
      Outwardly, she didn't express any further interest in it, but I didn't get this far by not paying attention to what my women desired. As Jamie placed the envelope in her purse, I telekinetically snatched the jewelry box from beneath my coat in the corner.
    
      "I almost forgot," I murmured. "For mommy."
    
      Jamie turned and saw me with the box in hand. Her eyes lit up as she lifted the lid, then promptly gushed.
    
      "What is -- OH?! Why Stanley! You remembered!"
    
      "How couldn't I?" I grinned wryly before I went on to say, "Especially if all I could think of was you wearing just that."
    
      Jamie blushed as only she could and hugged me. I joined her and Jillian for a quiet dinner with her family, and gave her as much a worry free Christmas as I could. After we put Jill to bed, I met that lovely young mother under the mistletoe and made sweet love. She teased me by donning little bits of jewelry and luring me into her arms. Jamie silenced her screaming by covering her mouth with mine when she came.
    
      By now, both Melanie and Viktoriya knew I'd been hiding Jamie in a nearby apartment until everything got sorted out. However, neither woman had said a thing to Janet for their own respective reasons. Melanie treated every other girl with the sole exception of Shawn with equal jealousy.
    
      Oddly enough, she was friendly with everyone at the same time. Little Chen was empathic to Jamie's inner pain, but she said nothing for fear that Janet would have me cast Jamie out of the household.
    
      Viktoriya could've cared less what I did with the other girls so long as she could get a chance to "dyke out" with one every so often. My Baltic bi-curious beauty initially set her sights set on Rachelle, but she was more than happy to munch on Shawn's snatch when the chance arose. Now that she knew about Jamie, she was maneuvering to get into her pants.
    
      'Imagine her body on top of _my_ body, Stanislav.' Viktoriya licked her lips lewdly. 'We'll make sure you never walk right again.'
    
      I rolled my eyes at her suggestion and groaned, prompting her only to grin like a feral bitch in heat. Introducing Jamie to our debauchery would be premature, so Viktoriya had to settle for Janet instead. My ladies Wu, Chen, Viktoriya, and I started New Year's Eve at the Embarcadero's Equinox, the same place I had taken Shawn to when we were younger.
    
      The chef had changed (for the better); unfortunately, the prices had kept up with the times. Luckily, I had the money now to support such an extravagance. After dinner, we partied through Union Square and ended with a moderately reserved four-way in my old room.
    
      The first day of 2001 pretty much started with Janet getting cunnilingus from Viktoriya. To this day, Janet is still embarrassed at how easily she surrendered to Viktoriya's advances; it was a foregone conclusion considering she was the only 'normal' at the event.
    
      I slammed all three girls with equal ardor. About the only argument that came up was when I used saran wrap on Viktoriya. She and I had always done things bare-backed because she was able to push fluid back out with her mind. And despite our fucking around, we had remained with a limited set of partners. Hence she was suspicious about wrapped cock until Janet reminded her that it was for everyone's protection.
    
      "I mean you and Stanley have done this before right?" my First threw me a concerned look. "Because if you haven't, you were taking big risks with everyone missy."
    
      Viktoriya realized how close we both were to being exposed, so she made up a lie.
    
      "I always had protection. So, we never bothered with this ... clingy paper."
    
      'Liar, liar, pants on fire.' I chided her mentally.
    
      'Fine. No pussy for you tonight, kisa.' Viktoriya was smiling despite her thoughts. 'You've had enough!'
    
      Her thought-speech was sharp and acidic, but I knew she didn't mean it. I grinned, pulled Vika towards my wrapped cock, and fucked the shit out of her. Afterwards, I broke my personal record of three times in one night when Janet and I bumped into each other in the hallway.
    
      As she stumbled back out of the bathroom, I cornered her and had my way with her on the kitchen floor. I suppose the spontaneity of that moment and a stroke of good luck were what finally got my Jan knocked up.
    
      In the meantime, bids had come in on the condo's site. I sifted through them and picked out the ones I knew who were flexible in regards to payment. I wanted my contractors to be able to understand I was paying principally in cash and a certain level of trust needed to be there.
    
      Shawn had forwarded me the plans for what she termed "a solar girdle" that would collect solar energy, store it in batteries, and turn it into practical electricity we could use. I took one look at her schematics and knew I had one heckuva engineer in the family.
    
      All in all, the new year began with great positive energy. Too bad it didn't last.
    
    ===============================================================================
      WELCOME TO JAPAN FOLKS, WHERE THE LOCAL TIME IS ... TOMORROW
    ===============================================================================
    
      A few things of note happened the summer of that year. First off, Janet was about the size of a damn blimp thanks to her pregnancy (she was about seven months along when I flew to Japan). Between her mood swings, her hectic work schedule at the firm, and the pressure from her parents and our parents to have a wedding before she popped, she was as much a handful as Jillian was.
    
      Thankfully, Melanie was around to help between classes. I thought about introducing Jamie to Janet, but decided against it at the last moment. In Janet's condition, there was no telling what any emotional distress would've done. I wasn't risking a damn thing when it came to our first-born.
    
      I wondered though, how long I could keep Jamie and Jillian apart from the others. I was dividing my time so much, it felt like I was back in school juggling my darlings all over again.
    
      What a fun time THAT was.
    
      I winced from the thoughts in my head and massaged my temples. I was on a jetliner humming over the Pacific towards Japan. Shawn's absence had made me miss her so much, that I took out a week towards the end of July to visit her in Tokyo. When Viktoriya heard I was heading out of the country, she reminded me that she was going to Rome with Cristobel for a vacation around the same time.
    
      It was all eerily familiar to me. Rachelle started moving apart when she moved (so did Janet, although I may have zapped my First so much that she grew addicted to me instead) then fell for another man. I pondered the similarities and prepared for the worse. I also wondered if Viktoriya knew how jealous I was.
    
      'Oh, don't mind Cristobel.' Viktoriya beamed me a hint of slyness on her mind. 'He'll behave kisa. And I'll have a surprise for you when I come back.'
    
      When the plane landed, I was in a daze and don't remember much save for Shawn's bright baby blue eyes welling up with tears before she crushed my face with her massive boobage. My poor pumpkin's cup size had finally stopped growing -- at an H-cup.
    
      She took me back to her tiny little "rabbit hutch" apartment amidst the Tokyo sprawl, and I settled in for a brief vacation in Japan. I slept through most of the first day (which was technically tomorrow), only to wake up around the local time of 10 P.M.
    
      "You missed dinner," Shawn sighed. "I wish you could stay longer Stanley. Your body clock is all messed up!"
    
      "Yeah, sorry muffin," I had hopped out of the shower feeling refreshed but was mildly shocked by how dark it was outside.
    
      "That's okay."
    
      She turned back to her books. I sat back and admired my plump lil' darling. She still stood nearly as tall as me and had gotten a little wider as well. I didn't mind, so long as she was healthy. I tilted my head. Wait a minute. No ... she seemed a little thinner.
    
      Shawn Ellen was still a plump girl, but her waist had slimmed. Maybe she had nearly finished with her growth spurt and started growing up. I remembered how I measured her lovely ass so many years ago and immediately got an idea.
    
      "Hey sweet-ums," Shawn piped up, "There's some udon I --" she felt my hands around her breasts "-- STANLEY!!"
    
      "Hush, baby girl," I said. "Didn't you tell me there's a noise ordnance after dark?"
    
      "Oh jeez!! Now?!"
    
      She tried squirming out of my grip to no avail. For me, I had just got up and showered, so I was ready for action. Shawn was on local time and aiming to wind down. This could work out, I chuckled to myself. I just needed to do all the work.
    
      I bent her over the small desk in her room and undid her belt. She kept silent as I pulled her pants down, revealing that ample apple-cheeked ass of hers. I bit her ass once, twice, thrice; it took ten bites for me to go from one side of her ass to the other (five per side). My plump darling had grown indeed. My thirst wasn't slaked though. I wanted more.
    
      Shawn gasped as I kissed her brown little shithole. I slapped her meaty cheeks and she squealed softly. I sucked in her nutty, racy sex musk, and reveled in the days where I'd fantasize about fucking her in the school's band room.
    
      "Oh jeez! Stop!" Shawn pleaded. "I'm crushing my books!"
    
      I stood up and pulled her to me. We kissed and I felt her hands reaching for me. I pulled off Shawn's top and freed her two gi-normous tits. She lay down on the tatami with a sigh and let me work my magic on her breasts and between her thighs. Using the same trick of telekinesis on Jamie, I fattened up my cock and plunged into Shawn's pungent hoary hole.
    
      "Umm--gwad!!"
    
      Her eyes widened like saucers. The feeling was definitely pleasurable. She wondered what I'd done to fill her so completely now. I grinned at her look of surprise, leaned over and kissed her while I bounced happily on my big cuddly darling.
    
      Shawn's face flushed as I drilled her for a few minutes more before she and I both popped. It was one of the few times that I was much more active than my partner after a session. Shawn yawned and stretched lazily over me as I continued to molest her.
    
      "Stop it, you dope!" She slapped my hands away. "I wanna sleep now."
    
      "Now you know how I feel 90 percent of the time," I laughed and gave her a pinch on the meatiest portion of her ass. "This is sweet revenge!"
    
      Shawn sniffed and threw her entire weight atop me. I groaned from the pleasure. I liked having her on top of me. It was like having a soft fluffy fuckable blanket that made smart conversation. My dick sprung to life between her legs and she glared at me.
    
      "Geez Stanley," Shawn mumbled, "Do you miss me that much?"
    
      "You bet I do," I ran my hands down her sides. "Oh yeah, you know that solar wall of yours? It's been turning some heads at the fabrication company."
    
      "Really?" Shawn kissed my chest then became thoughtful. "Maybe I should do my dissertation on that instead of quake reinforcement systems."
    
      "Maybe," I nuzzled her scalp. "How much of it have you written?"
    
      "I have my thesis ready," she said. "Along with a preliminary draft of my plans. Why don't you finish 'em for me?"
    
      "That's cheating," I growled and felt her whole body jiggle with laughter.
    
      "I'm only kidding!" Shawn bit her lip shyly before she sprung a zinger on me. "So, who's this Jamie person?"
    
      "Eh?" I almost pissed myself from fear. "Where'd you hear that?"
    
      "Melanie told me," she looked at me with mild disapproval. "She tells me everything that happens back home."
    
      Great, I thought as my plump dumpling yammered on. Little Chen was spreading gossip like wildfire. It was a wonder that Janet hadn't heard anything.
    
      "You know she's there when you screw around, right?" Shawn asked.
    
      "Yeah, I know."
    
      By now, I wasn't actively reading or scanning my darling's minds as often as I once was. I found it to be invasive and jeopardized what actual trust there was. Besides, after a few years I wanted to be surprised. Knowing what someone thought before they gave me their audible answer really sucked the life out of surprise parties and presents.
    
      For the longest time, I only used scanning in dire emergencies, when feeling out design clients, or when I desperately needed to know something (and fast). I suppose I sound like a hypocrite, but I'd stopped pushing my luck. I was happy with the women I was with (or the ones I had retained) and I wasn't about to troll for fresh meat.
    
      The only exception seemed to have been Jamie. My old class chum fell into my circle out of necessity, but she stuck around since things were going great between the two us. This, despite the fact she knew she wasn't the only woman in my life. For me, I didn't mind her stripper's body.
    
      Of all the things that Jamie left in Vegas, she didn't ditch exercising on the fireman's pole (later installed at her place) and the horizontal pull-up bar. Even strippers knew a good thing when they see it. But Shawn Ellen though ...
    
      "Well, if Yu-Ching's told you everything," I stopped to yawn then feigned disinterest, "Then what's there to tell?"
    
      "Because I want to hear it from you!" My buxom angel pinched my cheeks painfully. "Five wives?! Are you _crazy_ mister? Does Vicky and Jan know about her!?"
    
      "Barr--yerr--marr?" My lips were stretched taut by her stubby fingers. She finally let go so I could speak clearly again.
    
      "Are you mad?" It was the only question I could think of, and the one question I sensed the answer to already.
    
      "Well, I want to say yes!" Shawn was exasperated. "But no! I really don't know!!"
    
      She bent her legs at the knees so I could see the soles of her feet. They were pretty, pink, and still smooth like a young girl's. Shawn began picking stray ends of her hair as if she was lying on a bed or something.
    
      "You're confusing me." I frowned, wondering if I had stepped over the line.
    
      I sensed Shawn wasn't mad. She felt I still loved her (true) and I wouldn't cut our ties so abruptly (also true). Besides, she'd been through a lot worse (very true). Her shock and surprise though, were genuine. It was like I'd found a new piece of ass from nowhere. To bring her up to speed, I decided to clarify a few things.
    
      "Well you remember Jamie right?" I murmured.
    
      "No, not really," Shawn sighed. "Why are you asking me?"
    
      "Think back. Rubenstein's class back at high school. The girl whose boyfriend was stabbed at the Winter Ball during your freshman year."
    
      My plump petunia's eyes pitched down, her mind trying to recall old faces and old places. Finally, the correct memory surfaced.
    
      "No way!" Shawn blinked. "Her? The girl who was the school slut?"
    
      "Whoa," I blinked. "Where'd you hear that?"
    
      "Well, it was just gossip, okay?" She saw I had gotten defensive. "Ashley was spreading gossip everywhere and about everyone."
    
      "Well this is the first I'm hearing about it," I frowned.
    
      "Well, that's all in the past. I'm sorry I brought it up, Stanley."
    
      "All right," I grinned. "Don't worry about it. Just be careful what you say all right? I don't want to belittle her in front of her daughter."
    
      "She has a KID?!" Shawn's eyes went wide again. "Melanie didn't say anything about that!"
    
      "Oops." Damn Melanie. I cursed her blurry thought-stream, and her chatter-box mouth.
    
      "Stanley!!" Shawn growled ferociously, "Did you?! I mean before Janet?"
    
      "Hey, don't you go spreading rumors now," I pinched her. "And no. The girl's from a previous guy. I'm just -- taking care of the package."
    
      "That's awful!" I wasn't sure if Shawn meant me or Jill's father. Then she asked, "What's her name? How old is she?"
    
      "She's five. Her name's Jillian," I said, "Jillian Chen. Jamie changed her name at the county records office."
    
      I decided to level with her about Jamie's choice of the last name. However, I omitted the various reasons why.
    
      "Wow." Shawn shot me a lopsided grin. "All I did was head outta the country and you got a kindergartner for a daughter. I'm going to marry a wild man."
    
      "That's me." I gave her a sardonic grin. "Can you believe it?"
    
      She giggled and relaxed on top of me. Soon, she was snoring softly. I listened to her breathing for a while longer then picked the big sleeping beauty and carried her to bed. I took another quick shower and pinged Viktoriya.
    
      'How'd Missus Dumbo take the news?' I saw Cristobel's face across the table in sunny Italy. Viktoriya looked down and I saw she was at lunch. She was also wearing a pretty damn low-cut dress.
    
      'Now Vika, remember what I said about those nick-names you make.' I scolded her mentally.
    
      Viktoriya scoffed at me on our private channel. I saw right next to Cristobel was another fresh faced young man and a sunny blonde. The four were sitting at a street cafe.
    
      'What's it matter if they can't hear me? But tell me, kisa. How are things?'
    
      'Shawn was okay with it.' I came off more relieved than I wanted to. 'Jillian was the only thing that took her by surprise.'
    
      'She's very cute.' I watched as Viktoriya took a sip of water and pass furtive glances at the blonde and two men in her party.
    
      'Are you talking about Jill or the hottie you're having lunch with?' I flashed her a thought-laugh.
    
      'N-yah! Mind your business nosy man.' Viktoriya thought mirthfully. 'How late is it for you, Stanislav?'
    
      'It's around 11 right now. Night-time.' I replied.
    
      'Drat.' She displayed disappointment. 'Tune out lyubimy. I want to surprise you.'
    
      'Promise you won't do anything crazy.' I made my concern evident. 'I got enough worries already.'
    
      'Look who's talking.' Viktoriya shook her head and began to stand. 'But I promise if you can be safe for me too.'
    
      'I will, sweetheart.' I thought wryly. 'Have fun! Because when in Rome ...'
    
      'Pfft! You're a poor comedian.' She pulled out her compact so I could see her blow a kiss at me. 'As if I haven't heard that from you for the millionth time now.'
    
      I grinned as I broke off contact. I puttered around Shawn's apartment and found an old art pad and some pencils. Being the artists we were, she and I would take about ten or fifteen minutes a day to sketch something quickly; it was handy when we wanted to show someone what we saw, or how something in our design would look like. While neither of us were exceptional artists, daily practice honed our skills in drawing.
    
      I decided to push my gift a little more. Using remote viewing, I drew Shawn nude as she slept in bed. I was normally pretty lazy about sketching, but since I didn't have much to do (apart from worry about new plans and projects waiting for me when I got back to work) I added as much detail as possible. I darkened the details of Shawn's brows, hair, and outline of her enormous boobs.
    
      After an hour, I was pretty tired from both drawing and keeping my mind alert. I set the sketch pad down, washed the graphite from my fingers, and crawled back into bed next to Shawn. I slept pretty well until someone gave me a hard shove.
    
      "You screwball pervert." Shawn greeted me by pressing my drawing of her to my face the next morning. "How DARE you draw me nude. And my tits aren't that big!"
    
      "Oh sorry." My mind was a little sluggish. "I forgot something."
    
      She handed the pad back to me. I picked up a charcoal pencil, signed my name in the corner and sunk back under the covers.
    
      "Oh very funny," Shawn growled. "You're going to get it now mister. Get up!"
    
      I heard her put the pad away then felt her hands on me. She flipped me over and sat on my chest, her pudgy face was full of mischief.
    
      "Where do you wanna go today?" she asked me.
    
      "Anywhere but there," I flicked my glance down at her crotch.
    
      "Hah. You got that right!" Shawn put her hands on her hips and laughed. "Come on you sleepy dope. I wanna show you around Tokyo."
    
      We spent the day touring the various districts of Tokyo. I was blanketed by an impressive rush of signs, billboards, and general marketing. Tokyo was as built up as New York, if not more so. Shawn didn't think it was much, but I insisted on checking out the Tokyo Institute where she studied.
    
      We hit the Ginza next and poked our heads into any shop that we fancied. Shawn and I ended our day at Shibuya where something uncivil happened. If I had a lottery jackpot every time I went to a foreign city and some ruffians or psychotics attacked me and my date, I'd be an infinitely wealthier man.
    
      I was alerted to the event by a rising wave of fear and panic. I sensed it easily as I watched Shawn buy some gummy sweets from a street vendor and pop one in her mouth. The panic crested as Shawn searched for a second piece of candy for me. Then, I saw the cause of the commotion. A crazed and disturbed man armed with a bloody samurai sword turned the corner just a mere twenty or so feet from us.
    
      I didn't know why or how he got such a thing -- I knew Japan had some of the strictest weapon control laws on earth -- but he was armed and dangerous. I zeroed in on his mind and found a jumble of thoughts: hatred of foreigners, hatred of his job, hatred of his love life, and what-not.
    
      He reminded me of Michael Douglas' character "DEFENS" in the movie "Falling Down" except he was Japanese and he was waving one sharp-ass blade. Someone had pushed the right buttons and all of the man's self-control went out the door.
    
      Unlike that time with the inept thugs at West Portal, I didn't have time to sugarcoat reality for Shawn. My plump dumpling looked up just in time to see the madman charging her with his sword upraised and cursing in Japanese.
    
      Her own scream barely crept past her lips when I caught the man's sword arm with one hand and his face with the other. I didn't do anything too physical, but I easily overloaded his brain. I took the sword from his loosened grip and stuck it in a nearby trash bin.
    
      The man was babbling incoherently, frothing at the mouth and crawling on all fours when Japanese policemen and emergency personnel appeared to secure the scene. It was much different from my tussle at the bank back home. Here, I was treated with a little more leniency.
    
      It wasn't a difference of cultures (or appearances; the Japanese cops appreciated Shawn's cleavage as much as a man would anywhere) but it was because I had practiced restraint. Viktoriya was both right and wrong: perhaps I was becoming more ruthless, but I also understood the importance of restraint.
    
      Tseng finally had his protege, I thought dourly. Shawn was no less emotional than Janet, but she put on a braver face than my First. She hugged me tightly once we were back at her place.
    
      While I was in the shower, she fired off an excited e-mail that got me in a heap of trouble. As word got around back home that I was involved in yet another dangerous scrape, Janet went ape-shit ballistic.
    
      "What the hell are you doing?!" she cried over the phone.
    
      I had to sit down and reassure my First (long-distance) that no, I didn't have a deathwish and no, she wouldn't be a widow before our first child was born. By the time we were done, the charges to my phone bill were ridiculous. Too bad video conferencing wasn't available -- not that it would've helped.
    
      "So that thing about the bank robbery?" Shawn asked me peevishly. "Are you planning on becoming the neighborhood Spiderman or something, Stanley?"
    
      "Don't you start," I crumpled in the middle room, tired and weary.
    
      "I'm sorry," she knelt beside me. "It's just I never saw you do that before. You were so cool!"
    
      I laughed despite myself. I never thought of myself as cool, suave, or debonair.
    
      "I can totally brag now," Shawn went on absently. "My boyfriend can kick anyone's ass."
    
      "Hey now," I pulled her down towards me. "None of that understand? It's not my day job."
    
      "So what's the use then?" She teased my ears and pulled my hair playfully. "If I gave you a list of people to beat up, could you do it?"
    
      Shawn Ellen had the temerity to laugh when I visibly frowned at her.
    
      "I'm just kidding!" she heaved a big sigh. "I miss the old Stanley. The one who could joke around a bunch, and not just beat up people."
    
      "Maniacs aside, I can still be a laugh riot." I stuck out my tongue and licked her sloppily on the cheek.
    
      "Eew! Yuck!"
    
      Shawn giggled and returned the favor. We kissed for a good minute or so before she got on top of me. When I thought I was going to get some peace and quiet, Viktoriya thought-spoke to me in a practical state of panic.
    
      'STANISLAV!!'
    
      I nearly winced from the vehemence of her broadcast.
    
      'Yes, milenky?' I replied as Shawn began nuzzling my neck and shoulders.
    
      'What's all this about in Freckle-Face's e-mail?!' Viktoriya was staring at her laptop at an Internet cafe. She looked up and I caught her angry reflection in the window. 'Are you okay?!'
    
      'I'm fine.' I thought dryly. 'Shawn's about to start, if you want to watch.'
    
      'Don't change the subject you liar.' Viktoriya's thoughts registered distaste. 'I thought you only interrogate! Or are you trying to promote yourself to be the muscle now?'
    
      'It's complicated, milenky.' It was getting hard for me to do anything save mind-sight when Shawn began teasing my nipples.
    
      'Then explain it to me!' My Russian bride-to-be demanded haughtily.
    
      'Look, I've been working on my telekinesis on my own.' I thought back. 'Just trust me. I'm getting better at it. I want to show you when I see you again.'
    
      'Oh.' Viktoriya's rage and worry diminished when she sensed I was trying to tell her the truth. 'Okay. Well at least you have that.'
    
      'Yeah.' I groaned as Shawn began her trademark biting.
    
      'Well good then.' A feeling of relief came from Viktoriya. 'I'll leave you two alone. I have to go now.'
    
      'Any place good Vika?' I inquired.
    
      'It's private.' She suddenly became coy. 'Just promise me you'll stay safe.'
    
      'I will.' I thought-spoke. 'You too okay?'
    
      'I will if you try.' Her tone was acidic. 'Speak to me tomorrow ... or when you wake up. Bye lover.'
    
      'G'bye.'
    
      I rolled Shawn on her back and fucked her massive titties until I jizzed.
    
      The rest of my time in Japan was uneventful. I did feel nostalgic when I came across a clothing shop. I wasn't able to learn how to make kimonos or yukatas but I remembered Rachelle had always wanted one. I had hazarded a good guess on her size from the last time I saw her nearly three years ago.
    
      She was my age now; about 25 or 26. I inquired about a size for a "Western woman" about "yay high". The clerk assumed it was Shawn. My plump dumpling was browsing the racks but wasn't interested in dolling up in silk robes.
    
      She only went to Japan for school, but she wasn't totally nutty about its heritage, people, or culture. I did a bit of careful shopping and bought a peach colored kimono. I was halfway positive the shop in Japantown was able to do some alterations.
    
      "Who's that for?" Shawn asked me.
    
      "A gift for an old friend," I said simply. Or rather an old girlfriend, I thought with a trace of longing.
    
    ===============================================================================
      WHAT'S GOOD FOR THE GOOSE IS GOOD FOR THE GANDER
    ===============================================================================
    
      Of all the stupid things Viktoriya did, the most audacious was what she did during her trip to Rome in '01. Specifically, she did Cristobel and his boyfriend.
    
      Confused? Yeah. Me too.
    
      Here's what happened: I came back from Japan, went to work for a few days, and then took a two day weekend to New York City to surprise Viktoriya. Delighted (and forewarned when I used mind-sight) she showed me her promised "surprise" after a light dinner at a little Greek place in the Village.
    
      Her "surprise" definitely surprised me: it was a set of high-resolution digital photographs of her in what appeared to be a sleazy Italian porn film. No one was more shocked than I.
    
      Viktoriya sensed my jealousy before I even said a word. She tried to explain as I tried to make heads and tails of it all as she sat daintily by my side in her jeans and t-shirt.
    
      'It's not what you think.'
    
      "I don't know what to think," I scrolled through the set on her computer.
    
      The photos were a sexy little vignette. The girl (Viktoriya) and guy (I assumed it was Cristobel) were frolicking in a richly decorated seaside bedroom when another guy walks in -- I guessed the husband or something -- and the three proceed to have a helluva time.
    
      I poured through the photos and noticed that the photos began to focus more and more on Viktoriya's face. Of the two men's faces, I saw little or nothing of once the simulated "action" got started; most soft-core and erotic photography do not show pentration or genitalia in the act of coitus.
    
      One shot showed Vitoriya's tongue dangerously close to both men's cocks while another showed her face contorted into beautiful agony while she was supposedly penetrated by both men at once.
    
      The whole vignette ended with a fabulous shot of Viktoriya splayed out nude on the bed with both the guys curled in fetal positions beside her (their faces hidden). I noticed that in all her shots, particularly the last dozen ones, Viktoriya was looking right at the camera.
    
      Right at me, I suddenly realized. Despite that part of me which was aching with jealousy, I found myself a little aroused.
    
      "That's Cristobel." Viktoriya pointed out unhelpfully.
    
      "I thought you said he'd behave," I said dourly but hid my excitement. "Some dancing partner Vika."
    
      "Oh Stanislav, you prude," she pulled up another folder and clicked on some more files. "Crisotbel's gay."
    
      And that was supposed to make me feel better? Wait --
    
      "What did you just say?" I back-pedalled. "Who's gay?"
    
      Viktoriya pulled up a photo of a handsome European fellow brazenly kissing another dark-haired guy. Both had good physique and looks women would die for.
    
      "His boyfriend's uncle is one of Rome's most famous erotic photographers," Viktoriya explained. "We took these for fun!"
    
      "I bet."
    
      "Don't pout," my Slavic siren scolded. "Since you love pornography so much, I wanted to surprise you with some. Starring me of course!"
    
      "You mean YOU love pornography." I shot her dirty grin.
    
      "Don't be jealous." She let out a quick laugh. "Cristobel and Marcello had to jerk each other hard in between shots. They couldn't even look at me or they went soft!"
    
      I had to smile. My dusky Russkie felt my relief, and she needled me about it with her own brand of smugness.
    
      "And of course Cristobel is gay. Why do you think I get along with him so well?"
    
      "I dunno." I scratched my head. "What's that say about me?"
    
      'You're jealous, kisa!' Viktoriya thought-spoke as she straddled my lap.
    
      'Damn straight I am.' I felt foolish, but what she did still irked me.
    
      'Now you know how each of us feels too!'
    
      She kissed me gently on my forehead. I felt my embarrassment rise along with a more physical part of my anatomy. I heard a theory once somewhere that when men do not see their mates for some time, they generate a greater amount of sperm when they mate.
    
      The idea, evidently, is to insure that the woman will get his deposit, and to beat out some imagined rival who may have banged his woman in his absence.
    
      I'm an architect and a telepath, but I'm not a scientist. I couldn't prove if that theory was true or not, but I will say this: I fucked Viktoriya with a renewed vigor as if it was our first time.
    
      My mind kept rewinding back to Viktoriya getting double-teamed. I knew it was faked; the pictures showed no penetration and there were no trace of body fluids at all. She showed me that part of her trip (mind-to-mind).
    
      While everyone was nude for the shoot, Cristobel and Marcello pressed their dicks against Viktoriya's body (for physical warmth) but the thought of penetrating a woman simply wore at them throughout the shoot.
    
      I had regarded her shoot sleazy before, but the whole thing was more artistic than it was obscene, and knowing her love of the arts, I doubted I had much to worry about.
    
      Heck, Viktoriya was so scared of pregnancy when she was younger she didn't even dare to mind-control other men. She wouldn't jeopardize herself physically. Still, it was the "possibilities" that got me all hot, agitated, and bothered. I wanted her more now, not less. I wanted to make her mine again, and Viktoriya immediately became aware of it.
    
      My Slavic siren yielded to my advances when I reached for her. She sighed with pleasure as I pounded her pussy raw. After the first time, I rested and waited maybe a couple minutes before I went a second time.
    
      With each stroke, I pounded my dominance back into her mind and body inch by aching inch. In between her swooning and impassioned cries, Viktoriya egged me on as best she could.
    
      When I climaxed for the third time, my mental defences creaked ajar slightly. Viktoriya finally realized she might've stepped over the line but I was doing my best to hide it. She and I didn't speak about it, because we dedicated the day to her chores (laundry, shopping, unclogging her drain, etc.) and fucking like wild beasts when the mood struck us.
    
      By the time I was ready to leave, my testicles had been working overtime regenerating sperm. I was literally fucked dry. Before I headed out the door for my cab, Viktoriya hugged me tightly.
    
      "I'm sorry if I hurt you kisa," she whispered softly. "I won't do that ever again."
    
      "That's okay." I patted her bare shoulder. "I guess I should pay more attention to you."
    
      "You should," she sniffled but added her thoughts: 'If you can. You barely have enough time yourself!'
    
      "I'll make do." I kissed and bumped foreheads with her. "Love you much Vika."
    
      "Love you much Stanislav." Viktoriya embraced me, her fingers caressing my neck.
    
      I finally had to leave when the cab driver began honking like crazy. Just a little over three weeks after I came back home, I got a second surprise from Viktoriya. She gave the news directly to me before she broke it over e-mail.
    
      'Stanislav!? Kisa?! Wake up!'
    
      Viktoriya's thoughts pierced my slumber and roused me from bed at 4:30 A.M. I groaned. I hated that time difference separating us more by the day.
    
      'Wake up lyubimy!! I'm pregnant.'
    
      That got my attention. I sat up and realized that I was sleeping alone for the first time in many weeks. I cleared my thoughts and made certain I was awake.
    
      'What was that again?'
    
      'I'm pregnant! I'm pregnant!! I'm pregnant!!' Viktoriya's mind sang happily. 'Oh kisa, you're going to be a papa!'
    
      'Oh great, Vika.' I thought and headed to the restroom. 'Great news.'
    
      I knew I wasn't going to hear the end of her for a little while, so I might as well get to work.
    
    ===============================================================================
      INTERLUDE -- THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM
    ===============================================================================
    
      So Viktoriya was carrying my second child while Janet was having my first. Not that it mattered to my parents. They were already bugging me about marrying poor, swollen Janet before she gave birth to a bastard. All that (and more) from my own father, a man who regarded Western organized religion a sham to bilk money out of honest men and women through the tithe.
    
      I couldn't blame him though. There was considerable shame in bastard children in the old days -- damn rustic peasant ideology. My father taught me skepticism about theology and belief. His beliefs were summed up in one word: secularism.
    
      It was a concept I took to heart. In contrast to my father, my mother was more worried about Janet's physical and mental well-being, and begged me to marry her before the shit hit the fan.
    
      Therein lay the problem: Janet and I didn't want to be married. First off, the paperwork would make me a bigamist should the other girls insist on the same arrangement. Secondly, we didn't really want to. You can call it some New Age (or Millennial) Domestic Partnership bullshit or whatever, but we didn't want to "marry" in the traditional sense.
    
      "Marriage -- pah!" Janet said in her best imitation of Patty Bouvier from The Simpsons. "That's girl stuff!"
    
      I grinned at her audacity. Unfortunately, such bravado didn't last long from constant verbal assault from both our parents. We finally relented and got married at City Hall before a magistrate. It was so quick, my dad didn't even need to put in the full $1.50 for the parking meter.
    
      From then on, my Form 1040 I filed every year thereafter had Janet Kam-Ling Wu as my wife. The next day (Saturday), I rushed Janet to the hospital. Several tense (and painful) minutes after being admitted, she gave birth to a healthy 6 pound, 12 ounce baby boy.
    
      I was in a strange mixed state of elation, confusion, anger, and disbelief. Janet cuddled the new arrival as he gurgled and cried. She looked at me both with a fierce pride I hadn't seen before.
    
      "Stanley sweetheart," Janet said softly. "Come hold our son."
    
      I was so dizzy with excitement, I was afraid I'd fry his infant brain with my touch. I took the peculiar precaution of donning a pair of latex gloves then held the little bastard (er, son -- sorry -- it's my vernacular). After a little while, I turned him back over to his mother. I had other things to take care of (drawings for yet another development in Santa Clara County).
    
      Melanie was nonplussed when I got back from the hospital. I mistook her quietness for something else. I knew she wasn't all too happy when Janet and I got the marriage license. Now to compound things, Janet just gave birth to our son.
    
      "Yu-Ching," I tried to comfort her. "Li dougei? Wo-dei douyou gamching-ge*, okay?." [* Cantonese: You're jealous? But we have feelings for one another too.]
    
      "I'm not jealous." Melanie preened her lustrous dark hair and shot me a spiteful little glare. "But what about Jamie and Jillian? Don't you think it's about time you told everyone about them?"
    
      "I'll get to that." I sighed and gathered her gently into my arms. "You're the strong one. You're always so helpful."
    
      "Only because I keep all your secrets," Melanie murmured, "Is that why you keep me around?"
    
      "Don't be foolish," I lifted her by the chin and winked, "You're my second and you know it."
    
      Little Chen blushed and hugged me anew. She was my soulful Second; she and I both knew it. I just hated assigning rank to people I loved. Melanie looked up at me inquisitively.
    
      "So when are WE going to get married?"
    
      "I don't know," I pinched her. "Graduate school, get a job. Then we'll talk."
    
      "But I wanna be next!" she whined. "I don't want Viktoriya beating me because she's pregnant now!"
    
      "Hey, this isn't a race. Besides, it's just a piece of paper." I sat her down. "For taxes and all that. I made a promise to you, Jan, Shawn Ellen, and Vika. I'm not going to break that."
    
      "No." Melanie managed a small, knowing smile. "You're just going to add to it."
    
      She pirouetted on her heel before I could reply. My youngest darling headed into the studio to go online and do god-knew-what on that (then) hefty Pentium-4 desktop I used for work. She was probably downloading yaoi tentacle porn again.
    
      'Stanislav? How is she?' It was Viktoriya asking about Janet. My brunette beauty was sitting in a waiting room of what appeared to be a doctor's office.
    
      'She's fine.' I sat down wearily on the sofa. 'So is the baby. How about you?'
    
      'Well OUR baby's coming along. This is just a follow-up.' Viktoriya glanced down so I could see through mind-sight her stomach hadn't changed much. I guess it took a little longer for her body to show changes.
    
      'You look glowing sweetie.' I grew uneasy as I thought of my next question. 'Did you tell your parents yet?'
    
      'No.'
    
      I sensed Viktoriya's apprehension as much as she felt mine. I chuckled quietly and felt she understood the irony behind my thoughts. She was going to be a parent (I just become one about four hours ago) and at the same time, we were scared to death of confronting our own parents about our lives. Viktoriya grew really reserved when the topic of her mother and father even nipped the edge our conversations, so I sought to comfort her.
    
      'It'll be all right.' I felt my eyelids droop. Damn, I was tired.
    
      'You're sleepy Stanislav.' Viktoriya thought-spoke. 'Go lie down and let me sing to you.'
    
      'You ... don't need ... to.'
    
      I yawned and lay down anyway. Her homespun little ditty was floating through my mind when the phone rang. Good God. I rolled off the sofa like a dead log. Kill me now ... like right the fuck now, so I could get some sleep.
    
      'Stanislav! Don't be so impious!' Viktoriya scolded. 'Think of Janna's son! Think of ours!'
    
      'Sorry. Phone call. Catch you in ten?'
    
      'Twenty maybe.' She pinged back. 'I think it's my turn ...'
    
      I saw Viktoriya's vision dim as she rose to the nurse's wave. I stifled a yawn and glanced at my clock. Twenty minutes then. I picked up the phone and spoke.
    
      "Hello?"
    
      "Hello? Stanley bieu-guo?" It was a voice I hadn't heard in a while.
    
      "Oh hey. Aurora?"
    
      I brought the handset with me to the kitchenette so Melanie wouldn't overhear. Not like it mattered. The place was as small as Shawn's "rabbit hutch" (in the States, it'd be an SRO, or single resident occupancy) back in Tokyo. The only difference was I had an outer room to call my studio.
    
      "Li jou-mut ngm lei tam wo-eh*?" she asked me in a soft voice. [* Cantonese: Why didn't you come visit me?]
    
      "I'm a little busy here," I said matter-of-factly. "Besides, you know I don't have much business on the East Coast."
    
      "Oh? Hai-meh*?" [* Cantonese: Oh really? (or the more modern net-speak, uber-7337 version, "orly")] Her voice had an edge to it. "Auntie Aileen (my mother) said you went to New York last year!"
    
      Uh oh, I thought. Goddammit. My mother and Melanie were fucking gossip queens. I counted my blessings; at least my mother couldn't surreptitiously "hear" my thoughts.
    
      "When'd she say that?" I asked.
    
      "New Years," Aurora earnestly sounded sad. "Bieu-guo wo hou gwajue lei-ah*. Why didn't you visit?" [* Cantonese: I miss you a lot, cousin (please see chapter 2 for a more detailed translation of what sort of cousin).]
    
      "Well I miss you too." That was a damn lie. "But I was busy."
    
      "You miss me? Really?" I heard her sniff over the phone. "Tell me how much."
    
      I rolled my eyes. Aurora was younger than Shawn, but older than Melanie. Yet somehow, I didn't see Yu-Ching's ever growing maturity in my cousin through her correspondence, or her behavior.
    
      "Lots," I said simply.
    
      "Did you like those pictures from last time?" she asked sweetly.
    
      I blinked, feeling a little panic. Melanie was on the same computer I used to check Aurora's obscene mails. I relaxed when I realized I never saved any of her images to disk. Aurora's last set of pictures were, to say the least, over the top. I never knew how she found the time and inclination to do what she did, which was shoving foreign objects into her cunt and ass, taking a digital snapshot, and then emailing it to me.
    
      While I didn't mind the free porn, I did mind that her images were taking up space in my inbox. My email address starting to bounce other emails back (like those from Rachelle and Phillipa). Instead of getting a new email, I decided to increase my email storage out of my own pocket.
    
      "Yeah," I decided to play along. "I didn't know you had it in you."
    
      "Stanley," she breathed, "I wish you were in me."
    
      Good god, I wanted to laugh. I had a little homewrecker on my hands. I was deliberating if I should have Viktoriya pay her a visit when Aurora dumped a mild bombshell on me.
    
      "I'm coming to visit you," Aurora said suddenly.
    
      "Oh yeah? When? And why?"
    
      "Soon!" she exclaimed happily. "And because I miss you. Besides, I graduated and I'm trolling for an internship in publishing."
    
      "You mean like books and stuff?" I noticed Melanie peeking from a crack in the door. When she saw me on the phone, she crept back in and closed the door.
    
      "Kinda," Aurora was thoughtful. "But I want your advice."
    
      "Uh, sure," I nodded despite the fact she wouldn't see me. "I guess."
    
      "Great!" She seemed glad.
    
      With a step-daughter from Jamie, a son from Janet, and a third child coming from Viktoriya, I figured it would be best to break things off with Aurora, and let her down easy. Or I could include her in the pack. I winced at the thought. So I was going to violate bigamy AND consanguinity laws.
    
      How can I lose before a judge? I soured at my own sarcasm as some rustling noises came through the connection, followed by Aurora's voice.
    
      "Lemme give you my flight info," she said.
    
      I took down her flight number and bid her goodbye. I wrote everything on a post-it note and placed it on my wall calendar. I distinctly remembered the date I took her call: September 1, 2001. Ten days later, Aurora Kwong was dead, along with many, many others.
    
    ===============================================================================
      2001-09-11-0852 INCIDENT
    ===============================================================================
    
      After a few days at the hospital, Janet and our son Michael came to live with me at 35th Avenue. My room was mostly cleaned out by now save for the barest of necessities for the baby and mother.
    
      While the 43rd Avenue site wasn't furnished with any furniture, some of the interior furnishings were complete. The gas, electricity and water were running, so someone could live there in a pinch. But with all the noise of construction, it was no place for an infant or its mother.
    
      I busied myself juggling the books to fake my mortgage payments. As a "private security contractor" I was able to throw in just enough money from the difference of my actual paycheck at Ferguson to make the mortgage payment each month.
    
      Judging from the insane amount the county of San Francisco asked for my property tax (1 percent of a million was a load of dough -- and my building didn't cost just a million) I knew I had to ask Tseng for some more "odd jobs" to cover my expenses. Hence, I was more than a little distracted and occupied when the shit hit the fan.
    
      I remember it was a Tuesday; I'd gotten up early to finish calling up the interior decorator (this one hottie from my school, Gracia Kosugi, was definitely fuckable material if I wasn't so involved already) and finalizing some less-than-legal cash payments to my licensed contractors.
    
      Suddenly, an odd creepy feeling oozed its way up the back of my brain. It was like something was missing, or that I'd forgotten to put on an undershirt to keep my body warm. I thought I was just tired. I shook my head and crept to the bathroom to get my water. Janet and the baby slept in the warmer inner room and turning on the lights in the kitchenette would have awakened both of them.
    
      As I stared in the mirror, the eerie feeling only got worse. Two presences that I'd known and become familiar with for years had dimmed: they'd gone dark forever. My mind went into action almost immediately with me mind-pinging those I held dear in silent panic. I knew both Janet and baby Michael were safe.
    
      I went down my list as quickly and as carefully as I could: Shawn was fine in Tokyo; Melanie was still snoozing (she had a late class); Jamie and Jill were still slumbering but they were slowly coming to; and Viktoriya --
    
      'Vika?' I stumbled back towards my bed in the dark, trying to find my mobile phone.
    
      'Viktoriya?' I mind-pricked her once more. There was no answer. But I was getting a slight buzz of mental activity. I felt my innards chill and my heart skipped a beat. I pinged her repeatedly. I sensed she was alive. Why wasn't she answering? I was about to dial her on my mobile phone when --
    
      'S--stani--slav--a?' Her thought-speech was weak and jittery, like she was distracted and un-focused.
    
      'Vika?' I thought-spoke. 'Are you okay? I just had this awful feeling.'
    
      'Help ... me ...' I couldn't see her but I knew she was terrified.
    
      'Vika? What happened?' I thought-spoke. She didn't -- or couldn't -- reply.
    
      'Vika?' I grabbed my jacket, keys, and anything else I thought I needed. Nothing.
    
      "VIKTORIYA!!" My shout startled the baby and he started crying. Janet stirred, obviously agitated. I came back into the room, picked up little Mikey and took him to the chilly outer studio.
    
      "Sssh little guy," I swayed him side to side. "You piss off your mother and she'll have you for breakfast."
    
      Of course, my son didn't really understand me. Even if I spoke to him mind-to-mind it wouldn't have done much (infants, I later learned, are extremely susceptible to mind-control and are the easiest to mold into whatever a telepath wants; it was for this reason alone that I'd left most of the punishment to his or her mother when they were younger; I too, was human, and could make mistakes I'd regret).
    
      Baby Mikey began fidgeting and crying as I bounced him gently. I had to be careful. If I shook him too hard, his brain (and organs) would splatter like those banditos I used to dust on the border.
    
      All this time, I sensed little more from Viktoriya. I started to earnestly worry. My fiery little Cossack cutie never minced words. When she wanted to speak her mind, she did. So what was capable of staying her tongue?
    
      I decided to ping Faraz and see where he was before I called him normally. He was in New York City. Maybe he could check on her. Unfortunately, that eerie blackness I had felt earlier greeted me instead of his presence. He simply wasn't there.
    
      Impossible. There was only one way that could happen. I turned on the radio in my studio for some light music to soothe little Mikey and that's when I heard the news about the attack. I fought the nausea that welled up in me as the news hit.
    
      Two aircraft? Like jetliner aircraft? Or propeller craft like the one that hit the Empire State Building during World War II?
    
      "Stanley? God, what're you doing up so early?" Janet was up, her hair made for a great rock band cover.
    
      "Something just happened in New York." I handed our noisy son to her waiting arms. "I have to go."
    
      "Go? New York?" She was bleary eyed and confused. "Why? What's going on?"
    
      I turned on the television in the inner room. The radio blared as well: 'Two planes -- we're not sure how -- have just hit the two buildings of the World Trade Center in New York City. Repeat: two planes ...'
    
      "Oh my God," Janet sat dumbstruck on the bed. She was automatically rocking Michael as he wailed for attention.
    
      "I have to go," I turned to my First. "Vika's not answering the phone. I need to check on her and --" I didn't need to finish before Janet spoke.
    
      "Go on." She said firmly. "And call me when you get news. I'll check on everyone else."
    
      As I headed out the door, I thought-spoke to the one person who could get me to New York City in the blink of an eye.
    
      'Ghost Light. This is Snake Charmer. I need a favor.'
    
    ===============================================================================
      CASCADE REACTION
    ===============================================================================
    
      Twenty minutes later, I was in bleak, sunny Brooklyn near Viktoriya's apartment. I nearly stumbled as I got my bearings.
    
      "Thanks."
    
      "Don't mention it." David stepped back cautiously. It had taken him twenty agonizing minutes to answer my thought-call, realize it was me (and not a nightmare), fully come around, displace his wife someplace safe, and check out the current events before he picked me up on the corner near the Java Island coffee shop.
    
      Because that part of Brooklyn where Viktoriya lived wasn't really a part of David's "area", we displaced as close as possible and ran the rest of the way. It was probably the first time he had put his hands on me willingly and displaced us. Normally, he wouldn't dare approach me, for fear that I could read his mind.
    
      "Do you need me here?" he asked.
    
      "Maybe," I said as I hurried to Viktoriya's building. "I don't know. Why?"
    
      "I snatched a few people before the towers started collapsing," David said softly. "But there were still people in there. Some firemen ..."
    
      "Can you picture yourself trapped under a hundred thousand tons of rubble?" my tone came off colder than I wanted.
    
      "No," the sandy haired displacer kept pace with me.
    
      "Then don't think about trying to go back." I felt immediately apologetic as soon as I said those words. I quickly adopted a more sensible tone. "I'm sorry, but just leave it to the pros. You'll need specialized breathing gear for the fire anyway."
    
      "I know it's wrong for me to think it," David said quietly. "But you know what's fucked up?"
    
      "No."
    
      "I'm glad I can get away," he pursed his lips. "And I don't want to go back in."
    
      I had no good answer. Heck, given the choice, I wouldn't have gone in at all. A chunk of building that large and which was missing so many support beams would be condemned by building inspectors as unsafe. Wrecking crews would've demolished before it collapsed. I was nearly caught in a collapsing building myself when I tried to wreck my condo before rebuilding it. In hindsight, that was probably one of the dumbest things I ever did.
    
      As for the twin towers, I just wished the emergency crews who went in knew that before they committed themselves to their one-way trip. Poor fucking bastards.
    
      By now, we were at the front of Viktoriya's place. We slipped in when one of the tenants came out for her daily jog. Before she could say a word, we were out of earshot. David and I ran up the stairs -- Viktoriya lived on the fifth floor -- and I knocked loudly on her door. Not wanting to wait for a response, I placed my hand over the door knob and feigned using keys on the door. I simply used telekinesis to unlock the tumblers. She wasn't home.
    
      "FUCK!!" I made a fist and punched a nearby wall.
    
      _POP_ 
    
      David displaced a bit away from me. I glanced at the hole I had made. So much for Viktoriya's security deposit. Now I had to fix it -- after I find her.
    
      "Could she be at work?" David asked helpfully. "Or at her dance school?"
    
      The institute! Of course! I was still on West Coast time and wasn't thinking New York City was some three hours ahead. Viktoriya had been up for a while; she'd be at work, not at home. I wasn't thinking straight. I raised my hand for silence, closed my eyes and pinged: 'Viktoriya?' 'Where are you, milenky?' I reached out and felt her presence. She was alive but in ...
    
      "Manhattan," I glanced at David. "The Bartenieff Institute. Can you get me there?"
    
      "Can't say," he said. "I've never been there before."
    
      "Then the closest insertion to Eighth Avenue and West 37th?" I snapped.
    
      "Time Square would be close."
    
      "Do it."
    
      I held out my arm, my hand shut into a fist. David frowned but nodded and grabbed me by the arm.
    
      _POP_
    
      I looked around. We were in a side alley off the main street. I walked out and saw people were moving away from Battery Park, moving north. Some were fixated on the dark dust cloud of concrete and charred remains of the planes and their passengers rolling ominously out from the event site like pyroclastic flow from a volcano.
    
      I ignored the spectacle and started walking. I shifted my focus, pushing attention away from me. I didn't need a panicky cop or something telling me where I needed to go. I needed to reach Viktoriya, and may the foreigners' gods help any 'normal' who tried to stop me. After a few blocks, I noticed David was trying to keep up, but I didn't slow down even for a second.
    
      My legs felt stiff and my joints and muscles started to ache. I desperately wanted to TK-skate, but couldn't. I couldn't levitate or do anything else. Neither did David try anything. He could've teleported as far as his eyes could see, but he didn't. Such was the price for us remaining incognito.
    
      About thirty minutes later, I reached the institute. I sensed Viktoriya was nearby. The doors were locked by an electronic lock. I cursed and concentrated. I found the strut inside the door and snapped it in two. I wasn't going to be dissuaded by mere metal at this point. I pushed into the mostly empty institute.
    
      A scattering of students were rushing out in dancing tights, most lugging bags. As I worked my way through the building, I passed others glued to TV sets, or who were crying. The hallways were confusing, but didn't do much to hide Viktoriya. Her presence finally magnified as I made one final turn.
    
      "Viktoriya," I breathed with some relief. Despite the pain and numbness in my legs, I jogged down the hallway and opened the door. It was a dance studio, devoid of everything save --
    
      "Vika!" I shouted with relief. My Cossack darling was sitting awkwardly on the floor, and I nearly tripped over myself to go to her.
    
      "Are you okay?" I asked, nearly breathless. Viktoriya looked up, eyes and cheeks wet with tears.
    
      "Stanislav?" she whispered. I knelt as she took my hand into both of hers. I felt something was horribly wrong.
    
      "Vika? Are you okay? What's wrong?"
    
      She began crying uncontrollably and couldn't stop. I held her and looked around. The studio was empty save for me, Viktoriya, David, and a ruggedly handsome man. I had seen his face before, if only in photographs.
    
      "You are Zanislav?" Cristobel pointed at me. "Vika's boyfriend?"
    
      "Yeah." I rocked her as she sobbed. "What the hell's going on?"
    
      "The two towers." The young man looked at me and gestured expressively. "Boom!"
    
      "We heard." David nodded soberly and glanced at my weeping woman. "What happened to her?"
    
      "She is --" Cristobel frowned and searched for the words. "Emotional. Very crying."
    
      "We can see that," the displacer said with annoyance.
    
      Suddenly I heard Cristobel speak, much more eloquently, right into my mind: 'She is in psychic shock, friend.'
    
      I glanced at him but the gay Italian stud betrayed nothing.
    
      'You are a telepath?' I thought-spoke. 'One with the empire?'
    
      Cristobel's eyes flicked toward David; the displacer got the feeling he wasn't needed any more and decided he could do good elsewhere.
    
      "Hey Snay--er, Stanley," David nearly referred to me by code name but caught himself in time. "I'm going to take off. Do some stuff."
    
      "Gotcha." I nodded and murmured, "Thanks."
    
      He nodded and left the studio without another word. Cristobel watched the door close behind David before he dared broadcast again.
    
      'I am like you friend.' The handsome fellow sat on a chair and thought-spoke. 'But I am from the Old World. You are from the New World.'
    
      'There's a difference?' My curiosity was piqued but I turned back to the whimpering woman in my arms. 'Never mind. Tell me later. What's this about Viktoriya? What happened?'
    
      'She was exposed to an empath?' The well chiseled man cast his gaze on Viktoriya and me both.
    
      I sensed a _POP_ and David was gone. Probably gone to check on his wife Millie. I knew David considered this transportation a favor. I wondered what he'd ask of me later.
    
      "Yes," I decided to speak aloud. "I know an empath."
    
      My touch by now had calmed Viktoriya enough that she was only whimpering now. I soothed her as best I could and cradled her tenderly in my arms.
    
      "Sssh!!" Cristobel jumped out of his seat and locked the studio's door. 'You want the world to know?'
    
      'Sorry.' I thought-spoke. 'I'm not used to your voice in my head.'
    
      'It's a small discomfort compared to what people would do if they find out about us, no?' The Italian stallion thought back. 'I am more conversant in what you call "thought-speak" than when actually speaking.'
    
      "Really?" I slipped into normal speech again.
    
      He uttered a short, heavily accented, "Yes."
    
      "About Vika." I rocked her gently. "What happened?"
    
      Cristobel started to explain: Empaths were typically receivers. They felt the mood and feelings of others around them and instinctively "know" about it. He had been told that prolonged close physical with one may occasionally "infect" (that was the term Cristobel used) another psychic sensitive and give him or her the same emotional sensibility.
    
      Viktoriya's breakdown stemmed from several things: her new susceptibility to emotions; two plane-loads of people suddenly realizing they were going to die a split second before being incinerated; those in the buildings who died on impact; those above the point of impact who were doomed, injured, or dying; and the witnesses -- those goddamned 'normal' witnesses who watched the whole thing unfold -- concentrated their fear, terror, and what-else in a rising wave of alarm and panic. They're the ones who mind-blasted my Vika: dumb fuck 'normals'.
    
      'She'll be all right after a while.' Cristobel regarded me carefully. 'You are not an empath are you?'
    
      'No.' I thought back. 'How'd you know?'
    
      'Because you either do not care about what just happened, or you have no susceptibility to emotion.' He observed thoughtfully.
    
      'I care ...' I started my thought then abandoned it, for I knew it was untrue.
    
      Well, partly untrue. About an hour ago when I rushed out of my house clear across the other side of the country, I'd only gave a damn about Viktoriya and our as-yet unborn child. I could've cared less about anyone else. One thing got me curious though.
    
      'If you're empire.' I glanced at Cristobel. 'Did you tell Viktoriya about it?'
    
      'Partly. She knows I am a dancer. And that I can speak to her mind when we are close, but nothing more.'
    
      'Why?' I wondered. 'If we are alike, then shouldn't we ... ?'
    
      'We do things differently in the Old World. Those like Viktoriya are generally robbed of their gift at birth. They can become too dangerous.' He explained as best he could. 'That fellow Singh (he was referring to Tseng; Cristobel had his face in mind). He wants it that way. Please keep Vika ignorant about the rest of us.'
    
      'What is he?' I thought it a joke. 'The emperor?'
    
      'Why yes.' Cristobel looked at me with mild surprise. 'You did not know?'
    
      'Say again?' I blanched at the handsome homosexual.
    
      'After deposing the last leader for his excesses.' Cristobel explained. 'Singh (Tseng) took over. He is very much our leader.'
    
      My insides froze up. Tseng was the _leader_ of the invisible empire? A million questions went through my mind. What was his interest in me? And what was that about psychokineticists having their gifts taken? Tseng was one, and he was possibly one of the more powerful ones.
    
      Then that policy didn't make sense. Why did he refuse to see Viktoriya? Was it jealousy, and Tseng was afraid of a rival? Or was he afraid of infringing on my domain? Or was it something completely different and more nefarious?
    
      Viktoriya aside, Tseng was certainly playing with fire. He had exposed himself to the agency almost without regard to his own safety, as if his position wasn't important. At least, that's what I thought. Cristobel helped me grab and pack Viktoriya's things from her locker as I pondered all of that for some time.
    
      In the aftermath of this incident, I realized there was much more at stake. The world was indeed an ugly place, and it was about to get a whole lot uglier. And despite my apolitical leanings, I was to become the source of some of that misery. It's something few knew about outside the invisible empire, and something I wasn't too proud of.
    
    ===============================================================================
      FALLOUT
    ===============================================================================
    
      Tseng and I were busy in the weeks after September 11. On our semi-public side, he and I (along with a small support staff) were organized into the Para-surveillance and Sensitive Investigation (or PSI; the letters were coincidental, I think) division of the agency. It was even more hush-hush than usual, like Tom Clancy's fictional Third Echelon.
    
      The Homeland Security bureau that was formed later never knew about us or what we did. When the torture and advanced interrogation techniques Senate investigation came up, we were never mentioned. That made sense. We didn't need a detainee's cooperation to get what we wanted.
    
      Although it was probably Cox's wet-dream (or the agency's higher-ups) to have us mind-scan every suspect they brought in, several things proved to hamstring their efforts:
    
      (A) the agency wasn't wholly sure they could "trust" someone like Tseng, who had made it clear that he was quite independent and capable of backing it up,
    
      (B) the agency wasn't wholly trusting of me, as they saw me as his student,
    
      (C) neither of us could understand Arabic (I only knew enough to make awkward passes at Faraz's sister Ami), and
    
      (D) I was still personally pissed off because Cox and the agency screwed with me by insinuating to the San Francisco police I was involved with that bank robbery; I might've had ulterior motives they didn't know about.
    
      So "PSI" was fairly limited to interrogating prisoners who knew English or were domestic terrorists. The agency directors were smart enough to put me where I could use what "talents" I had shown to them. The agency was also smart enough to entice me with enough incentive that if I _didn't_ cooperate, maybe all those girls I was slamming on an almost nightly basis might be in danger.
    
      It was a good plan because it worked; bio-terror was something even I couldn't foresee. Just days after the Trade Center attack, the anthrax letters started going out. I didn't show it, but I was genuinely terrified. Unless one knew about the infected letters beforehand, there was no way for any empire citizen to instinctively "know" what was coming.
    
      Publicly, it's still murky about the who, the what, and the why the letters started, but suffice to say that it was stopped. All I can say is that the anthrax trace operation was Phillipa's first mission (even though she was only fifteen at the time, a clear violation of U.S. Child Labor Laws).
    
      She had been training for about a year or so, and living with her aunt, Susan Roget, in New York City. Aside from regular schooling, the agency employed her for "extra-curricular activities" under Tseng's hidden supervision. I got the distinct feeling that the three formed some kind of impromptu foster family.
    
      I suspected it was something for Phillipa's benefit to help her fit into the invisible empire, the agency, Tseng's personal agenda, or all of the above. Despite the fact Tseng had been the one who killed her Uncle Pauly and cousin Patch, Phillipa was tolerant of Tseng; at first I suspected some mental trick was being played on her. Later, I realized that the reedy red-head didn't recognize Tseng due to several things:
    
      (1) in the chaos, everything did happen quickly and she didn't glimpse Tseng's face through David's "portal",
    
      (2) Tseng didn't participate in field operations with Mirage using his code-name Talisman, but rather as a mindful mentor, and
    
      (3) the agency, Tseng, and I never told her the whole truth.
    
      In any case, Mirage snuck into the suspected facility with Ghost Light on stand-by. David was there to yank her out in case something went wrong. I was there to investigate the captives and perhaps, try to use my "limited" mind-reading to assist Mirage in evading sentries (she was a smart girl; she didn't need my help).
    
      David and I watched the grainy video feed as Phillipa spied on the lab, got what was needed, and reported in. It all went without a hitch; FBI agents took down the place without much trouble. I personally doubted if all that was needed; I noted the bureau's tactics could've been greatly enhanced with my psychokinetic abilities.
    
      Thankfully, there were no casualties. The suspects were arrested and I never heard about them again. Before I headed back home, I spent a brief half-day with Phillipa and her Aunt Susan. To say that they looked nothing alike would be an understatement. Despite their differences, Susan Roget was mindful and attentive to her niece's needs.
    
      Miss Roget was pretty for a woman in her fifties. I poked in and around what memories I could read without alerting her. I found she was the grand-cousin of a shitty author by the name of Paul Roget. Some manuscript Paul had wrote had piqued her interest -- something about invisible people -- and Tseng found her through his investigations.
    
      The two found a common thread and discovered that the invisibility "myth" in the Roget family was a "gift" which was passed on from one generation to the next. Normally, it went from an uncle to a nephew, so the case with Phillipa's Uncle Pauly and his nephew Patch made sense. What didn't make so much sense was Phillipa. All that made her case all the more interesting.
    
      The frightened dirty teenager I had pursued, cornered, and coaxed out from the barn in up-state New York was now a radiant beauty with soft white skin, perky little tits, freckled nose, and frizzy red hair. Aunt Susan must've noticed my stares because I caught her thoughts as they streamed from her: 'Can this young man be more obvious?' and 'Horny bastard.'
    
      I almost smiled. If Phillipa was eighteen, I would've fucked her rotten. But since she was still a kid (and I wasn't), I simply gave Phillipa a tender hug and flew back home on time (for once). There, I was just in time to assist my mentor in some empire clean-up. Cristobel was right about empaths.
    
      Tseng and I were busy locating and -- in a handful of instances -- neutralizing emerging psychotics. There was that term again. I was ready to pounce Tseng if he even suggested "neutralizing" Melanie.
    
      Thankfully, it was all "psychic" neutralization. My mentor introduced me to a very quiet fellow named Feodor Pinzevesky who was a "stabilizer" (or some shit like that -- I can't recall exactly). All I knew was that if I found an empath who was reacting badly in the wake of the event, I pinged Feodor and he'd pay that individual a visit.
    
      I never knew what happened exactly, but I knew there wasn't any killing or dead bodies; I followed up on all of Feodor's visits afterwards to make sure Tseng wasn't bullshitting me.
    
      On a more personal level, my best friend of ten years was dead. I confirmed that when I called his widow. Faraz had started his job at the New York Stock Exchange, but had gone to visit a colleague at a firm at the Trade Center that particular morning. I like to believe that he died instantly when the first (or second -- it's all a jumble) plane impacted, but more than likely he probably saw that wall of fire, metal, and charred bodies coming at him a split second before he died.
    
      Occasionally, I wondered how much he suffered, or if he even did at all as his flesh and skin melted, his hair ignited, his bones turned to ash from the incredible heat of gooey flaming jet fuel. From my later studies in structural reinforcement in a post-9/11 world, I knew it was as if napalm had been slushed through the whole building, roasting everyone alive.
    
      I never told Ghandia about that, and hopefully no one else ever will. Sometimes ignorance was bliss. Faraz wasn't the only one I knew personally who'd died. I got more bad news in the hours after I'd found Viktoriya. I had taken her back to her apartment in Brooklyn to recuperate that day.
    
      I put her to bed then puttered around and waited. I needed at least three or four hours before I could call back home as my method of travel wasn't exactly public knowledge. With Viktoriya asleep and looking for something to do, I headed out to find a local hardware store and bought some spackle and small can of paint.
    
      I came back in time to answer Viktoriya's phone -- twice. The first call was from the institute's director, who wondered where my lovely Cossack cutie had gone (I told her she was in shock from the attack; the director understood and hung up) and the second was from the Lychenkos. They were surprised I answered their daughter's phone; I reassured them she was safe and said she was resting in the room from today's shock.
    
      It was early evening in New York while I sat bedside next to Viktoriya, dividing my attention between the news feed on television and looking over her, when my mobile phone rang. It was Janet calling and she had more bad news from my mother.
    
      Aurora was on one of the other planes that had crashed that day. My mother had gotten my cousin's flight info from my post-it and found that the plane she was on was the one that crashed in Pennsylvania.
    
      My resourceful Lady Wu did her best to distract my mother, who was wondering where the hell I was. Janet herself was mildly surprised. All flights had been stopped for a while, so how I was I able to get to New York on such short notice?
    
      "Your contract work?" she asked in a hushed voice.
    
      "Something like that, yeah."
    
      "Be careful," Janet murmured, "Don't make me a widow."
    
      "I won't --" I gripped my phone so tightly I cracked its housing, "-- ever."
    
      Two days passed and Viktoriya's condition hadn't changed much. She ate, went to the bathroom, and slept, but she was a shell of a person. I had to lead her into the shower to get her cleaned up. Cristobel suggested that I get her away from New York City to see if her condition changed.
    
      'It's the people here.' He surmised. 'I'm not an empathic-receiver and even I can feel it.'
    
      I took him up on that idea. Cristobel, his boyfriend Marcello, and I bullshitted the institute's director into letting Viktoriya take an extended sabbatical. It was for her pregnancy anyway, so the director agreed. When the planes were all flying again, I packed Viktoriya's things and we returned to San Francisco. Once there, I put her up in the first finished unit (first floor west) at our 43rd Avenue home.
    
      Despite her condition, Viktoriya wasn't empathic, hence I never called Feodor. Her state of shock only afflicted her mind but no one else. And Feodor wasn't the only one who could treat psychic wounds (although his method was more of an exorcision rather than earnest rehabilitation), Melanie seemed to have a healing touch as well because Viktoriya noticeably got better when ever the young woman visited.
    
      Aside from Little Chen, Janet and Jamie both came to call at different times (mostly Jamie, who was fearful of coming between Janet and me) to pay their respects. By the end of the week, Viktoriya was well enough to push me around again (we resumed many of our telekinesis exercises) although I sensed she was still fairly fragile inside.
    
      My vixen from the Volga surprised me most by remaining on her best behavior when Janet brought along little Mikey for a visit (Jamie never brought Jillian until later). My dancing darling had been humbled from both her pregnancy and her close brush with catatonia.
    
      On a related note, I was worried about Yu-Ching. From what Cristobel had said, I was afraid she'd breakdown as well. However, I noticed while she was surprised and saddened from the terror attack, she didn't get overly emotional. I hypothesized it may have been personal affection. Viktoriya had been living in the Big Apple for nearly four years whereas Melanie had only visited it once (and briefly).
    
      Funerals and memorial services were held by those families who could reclaim and recognize the bodies. Some, like my friend Faraz and my cousin Aurora, only had empty caskets because "rescue workers" couldn't find enough of their remains to fill a salt shaker.
    
      But at least my cousin was on the passenger list; this meant her family got some kind of closure. Faraz's visit to the World Trade Center was unauthorized and totally under the table. I only knew about it by correlating my gift with the message he left on his wife's voice mail.
    
      "He said he knew someone in a brokerage firm," Ghandia confessed. "He told me he was going up there to see if he'd like working there."
    
      In the vain hope that he was still alive, Ghandia would call his number. Ten days after 9/11, Faraz's voice mail reached its limit and took no more messages. Me, Ghandia, his sister Ami, and his parents pretty much knew he wasn't going to return our calls. Faraz's service was small and very private.
    
      Only close friends and some family (those few who had left Saddam's Iraq) were in attendance. In lieu of his body, there was an effigy of him wrapped in white linen. Ghandia was in denial right up to the moment that the effigy was hauled away by the iman (cleric).
    
      Up till then, she'd been quiet with tears running down her cheeks. The next thing I knew, Ghandia broke down with such a cry of despair, I looked around as if I was embarrassed to be next to the weeping widow. Ami nudged me so I helped Ghandia up. The weeping widow bawled out on my shoulder as I did my best to console her. Heck, I wasn't that close to her -- just Faraz.
    
      That's when I saw Rachelle at the mosque. She wore dark sunglasses and a scarf that doubled as a hood covering. The black beauty was alone and dressed conservatively. I still saw she had a killer figure. She saw me clear across the mosque's small chamber and I locked eyes with her. I caught a stray thought or two from her: shock at seeing me and Ghandia embracing then her thoughts turned to the business at hand.
    
      As Rachelle walked up to us, I disengaged from Ghandia as politely and as gently as I could. I sensed the two needed some time alone. If they didn't, I did; I excused myself and rinsed my hands and face in the washroom.
    
      The close deaths hadn't affected me as much as I had thought. The sight of Rachelle though, had awakened some bad memories. I thought I had gotten over her. I had started a family (of sorts) and moved on, or so I thought. But some feelings just never go away. They just lingered. As I stepped out from the washroom, I ran right into her.
    
      "Oops. Hey, sorry about that." I composed myself and smiled wanly.
    
      "Drat. Ah no harm, no foul." Rachelle's hands were shaking as she rummaged through her purse.
    
      "Doing good, Rachelle?" I asked a little too casually.
    
      "Yeah." She pulled out a cigarette and lit it as we walked outside. "And you, Stanley?"
    
      "Can't complain." I glanced at her and asked, "Still smoke to keep thin?"
    
      "These?" Rachelle grinned nervously before she finished her answer. "Kinda. Well, no. You're right. I should quit."
    
      She stubbed her cigarette and remained smoke free for the rest of the time I saw her, although I noticed her whole body would tremble slightly.
    
      "Hey, I know this is a bad time to ask," I said slowly, "But it's been a little while since your last email."
    
      "Yeah," she said, "Been busy and all that."
    
      "So, do you have a moment?" I managed a smile. "We should catch up."
    
      "Still the same old Stanley." Rachelle braved a laugh and brushed her hair back. "Sure. Let's get some coffee."
    
      So, we talked a bit at a drinks cafe. She was a broadcast producer now, working in some office in Los Angeles. She ticked off some shows she had handled (none I recognized) before she asked me how I was.
    
      "Same old." I nursed my drink as I studied her carefully. Rachelle was a little heftier now, although still attractive. She was conservatively dressed, and I noticed that she wore rings on her right hand, but not her left. Had something gone awry with Craig?
    
      While it was tempting to pry, I didn't ask as I told her about my work at Feruson Graphics, then a little bit about the building on 43rd Avenue (it was the first "baby" Shawn and I had, even if it was made of wood, concrete, and light steel and weighed 1500 tons). I omitted a lot of other things. We sat in an awkward silence for a while. I dug a bit into her mind and sensed she was hiding something. Heck. We both were.
     
      "So how're you and Craig?" I pressed. I wondered if I could dredge things out the old fashioned way.
    
      "We're okay."
    
      Rachelle was a little dismissive, evasive even. It was then I noticed even in the interior of the cafe, she kept her sunglasses on. It caused me some concern as I studied her face. I blinked and noticed there was a small crack in her lip.
    
      It was minuscule but it wasn't noticeable unless someone really looked for it. Having fucked and sucked those luscious lips of hers, I knew exactly what I was looking for. I sat stunned as a I hazarded a guess as what Rachelle was trying to hide.
    
      "We should double date," I said slowly.
    
      I didn't know how to proceed, but shaking Craig's hand again might do for a start. I wanted to know what he was up to and how he could live with himself striking a helpless woman.
    
      "Are you still with Janet?" Rachelle asked.
    
      I nodded but said nothing about our son.
    
      "I see." She lowered her gaze. "Maybe later. Here's my number. I'm staying at the Parc 55 until Sunday."
    
      "I'll do that." I took her glossy card. It read: Rachelle Hollister, Producer. 555-1821. There was an email (the same one she'd been emailing me recently) but I didn't recognize the company. I realized that her name hadn't changed. I glanced at her left hand again, if just to be sure. She wore no ring.
    
      "Thanks for coffee," she said as she rose. "Keep in touch if I don't see you later, okay?"
    
      "Sure thing, sugar."
    
      I replied so naturally that I didn't realize I had called her by the pet name we both used years ago. Rachelle froze up and I thought she was going to hit me. She gazed at me sadly from behind the glasses, and I sensed the maelstrom of emotion and thoughts within her mind.
    
      "Same old Stanley." She turned to me and grinned for the first time in a long while.
    
    ===============================================================================
      REDISCOVERING RACHELLE
    ===============================================================================
    
      Despite all the death that had occurred, Rachelle ignited something I had long repressed within me. I still loved her, and I sensed she still had feelings for me. I agonized over Rachelle's card all day at work.
    
      Janet was at home taking care of the baby, Viktoriya was starting to show, and Jamie was more than eager for Jill to recognize me as her new father. So going out and fucking an old high school girlfriend absolutely made sense.
    
      I was already pushing things with five girls, one of whom remained an unspoken secret, so why the fuck not? I made a face and clone-stamped a new set of corner braces for a T-junction on my computer. I shouldn't have been thinking about Rachelle: her long tan legs. Smooth brown thighs. Soft tits with those dark chocolate nipples. Her face and those little looks she'd give me when I crawled on top of her and stuck her like a squealing little piglet.
    
      I slammed CONTROL + S and saved my project before I practically leaped for the phone. I called Janet first, and told her I wouldn't be back. My desperate horniness aside, I wanted definitive proof Rachelle was in trouble. A cracked lip was hardly anything to get worked up over, but if she was really hiding her abuse ...
    
      "That's fine," my First replied. "Yu-Ching wants to help with Mikey so we'll be fine."
    
      My next call was to Jamie, telling her I probably wasn't able to stop by a little later.
    
      "Oh that's all right I guess," she said softly. "Oh, and Viktoriya's here."
    
      "She is?" I asked surprised.
    
      'I am Stanislav.' Viktoriya's thought-speak made it a quasi-conference call.
    
      "Oh, Jillian wants to talk to you," Jamie said over the handset.
    
      I waited for the handset to be passed while Viktoriya continued to speak to my mind. 'Jillian is very cute! Why did you not mention her before?'
    
      'Knowing what you want to do to her mother?' I scoffed. 'You'll scar her for life.'
    
      'We'll never know until we try won't we?!' Viktoriya's capriciousness was evident.
    
      'Vika, don't be so impetuous.' I scolded her in our silent tongue. 'At least have our child first before you start cleaning carpets again.'
    
      'Bleyah.' She gave me a mental sigh. 'I'll die of boredom before then.'
    
      'Have Melanie get you some girl videos. Just play nice until then.' I begged her. 'Janet still doesn't know about Jamie. Or Jill.'
    
      'You filthy brute!' Viktoriya feigned horror. 'Impregnating women left and right!'
    
      I was about to correct her when Jillian came on and greeted me with an excited cry of: "Daddy!"
    
      I grinned nervously. Her exuberance still freaked me out a bit. It was like looking at a portal into the future: kids who would explode suddenly with excitement.
    
      "Hey Jillian," I greeted her. "What'd you do today?"
    
      "Lots o'things --!" and she proceeded to talk for another five minutes while I replied with "mmnn-hmm", "gotcha", "sounds cool" and listened with less than half an ear while Viktoriya and I conferred.
    
      'Do you think Janna will agree?' Viktoriya asked me. 'A fifth wife? She doesn't seem very forgiving. Her cunt has all the trademark features of a --' She used a Russian term that was the equivalent of "anal retentive tight-ass bitch".
    
      'I hope you didn't tell her that.' I soured. 'Janet eats babies. Your babies.'
    
      'Myeh!' Viktoriya sniffed and began mentally teasing me with what she wanted to do to Jamie. I was mildly surprised and impressed. I didn't know women could bend like that. By now, Jillian had spent herself, so I decided to end the call.
    
      "All righty, listen I gotta go," I said, "Please put mommy back on the phone."
    
      "U'kay I luv'you bu'bye!" Jill passed the phone back to her mother.
    
      "Gosh she's a talker," Jamie and I both spoke at once, stopped and laughed.
    
      "Do you want to say 'hi' to Viktoriya?" she asked.
    
      'But we already talked!' Viktoriya transmitted through mind-sight, and I saw she was shaking her head.
    
      "No, that's okay," I said. "I bet she's saying no."
    
      Jamie laughed, "How'd you guess?"
    
      I chuckled and was about to bid her goodbye when Jamie whispered into the phone in a hushed voice.
    
      "Stanley," she murmured, "We have to talk tomorrow. Can you make it?"
    
      "Privately?" I asked. Through Viktoriya's point of view, I saw she was teaching Jillian how to dance. Jamie was leaned over the sofa in her living room.
    
      "Of course." Jamie's words bore sultry overtones. "I NEED to talk to you, understand?"
    
      "I'll swing by tomorrow." I made a note to clear my day. "Promise."
    
      "Cross your heart?" Jamie breathed.
    
      "Hope to die," I replied.
    
      'You will if you do me after her!' Viktoriya growled into my mind unkindly. 'Me first kisa! You can rub my feet too. They're all sore and swollen.'
    
      'Fine.' I relented. 'I'll do you first before I leave for Jamie's place.'
    
      'Good Stanislav.' My dusky Russkie signed off. Naturally, no one else caught that dialog between me and Viktoriya.
    
      "Okay, I'll see you then," Jamie whispered and hung up. As soon as she did, I called up Rachelle.
    
      Man, I must be out of my fucking mind. The other line began to ring as I drummed my fingers on the desk. Rachelle tonight. Viktoriya tomorrow to be quickly followed by Jamie, and who knows what after. Well, I'll die happy, I thought darkly as I turned my attention back to my current call. It had been ringing for a little while. I was about to hang up after five more rings when someone picked up.
    
      "Hello?" Rachelle came over the other line.
    
      "Hey Rachelle." I calmed myself. "It's Stanley. Free tonight?"
    
      "Um, wait." I heard the speaker brush against something before she spoke again. "Tonight? I don't know. What time?"
    
      I glanced at the clock then said, "Seven how's that? I know a little place."
    
      "I think I can do that," she said.
    
      I asked her the one question on my mind since seeing her ringless hand: "Anyone else coming?"
    
      "No." She sounded strange.
    
      "Hey are you okay?" I asked her.
    
      Rachelle didn't answer immediately. I heard a voice in the background and wondered if that was Craig. I kept silent on my end and listened.
    
      "No one!" she suddenly cried out.
    
      When I heard that, I stood up in alarm. I heard sounds of a struggle over the phone before the call went dead. Great. More trouble. I sensed Rachelle was terrified and not surprised. For me, it clearly sounded more like a domestic issue and not a robbery. I hesitated only for minute before I headed out the door.
    
      The office phone I had used had blocked caller ID. There wouldn't be a way to find out who called unless Rachelle talked. I headed down to the street and hailed the first available cab.
    
      "Where to?" asked the driver.
    
      "Parc 55 on Fifth," I said and sat back, wondering how I should proceed.
    
      I decided to risk it and dipped into Rachelle's mind a bit using detached mindsight. I found her view being jolted from one side to the next. I could barely make out the fellow in the room, but I knew his skin was white. I also knew I needed to hurry.
    
      "Hurry if you can."
    
      "I'll try, buddy," the cabbie replied, annoyed.
    
      "$100 if you get me there in five minutes," I snapped.
    
      "You're the boss."
    
      The cab lurched on a right turn, then a left, then straight ahead. We stopped only briefly for red lights before the driver made some unscheduled turns through some alleys. His time was a shade over five minutes but I didn't care.
    
      "Must be some date," the driver remarked as I stepped out and rifled my wallet.
    
      I threw him two $50 bills and ran through the front doors. I didn't need the front desk to locate Rachelle. That would've meant getting caught on camera. I was still familiar enough with Rachelle's presence to find her though. I jogged down the hallway on the ninth floor trying to zero in on her.
    
      I pinged and got different results: a whore here and there (by 2004 as nearly 10 to 15 percent of the guests at any upscale hotel were in fact, prostitutes of male, female, and trans-sex persuasion in and around the San Francisco area), and the occasional business person or touring family.
    
      I finally found her room: 9306. The lock was secured by electronic keycard. I put my ear to the door and heard almost nothing. However, I did feel Rachelle's urgency. She felt she was in danger -- mortal danger. I suppose I could've knocked, but I was so worked up from the trip and from her frantic voice over the phone, I telekinetically slid the tumblers back and burst into the room.
    
      The pasty faced fellow I'd met years ago at Faraz's and Ghandia's engagement dinner had Rachelle by the neck. He was using a twisted bed sheet to choke her. Even from the doorway, I could see her face start to turn into a pale green-blue from lack of oxygen. My sudden entry really did a number on Craig. As soon as I cleared the door, I focused a small telekinetic push backwards and slammed it shut behind me. I wanted no witnesses.
    
      The pale-faced man started to shout but I shut him up by bounding across the room and gripping his throat. He clawed at my face and beat at my chest but I repelled his feeble attempts to fight me off. I focused my telekinesis on my hand that now held him and shackled him to the floor. I applied more telekinesis and pressed his upper and lower jaws together so he could moan, but couldn't form words. I didn't need him to speak anyway.
    
      "Rachelle? Sugar?" I looked back and saw she was coming around. She was coughing but she seemed all right.
    
      "Stanley?" The dark skinned beauty got up like she was drunk.
    
      I surveyed the room and said, "Get your things. Pack up. We're leaving."
    
      "What?" Rachelle swayed on her feet, dizzy and disoriented. "No, I can't --!!"
    
      "Please don't argue, sugar." I prodded her mind gently. "You're hurt. Just grab your purse and coat and wait outside by the door okay?"
    
      The mulatto winced as she obediently gathered her purse and a coat. As soon as she was out of earshot, I turned back to the man I was holding to the ground.
    
      "You can leave or stay. I don't care." I let my finger graze his cheek so I could "mark" his presence. "But if I ever see you near Rachelle again, or if I even think you're harassing her ..."
    
      I released my telekinetic grip on his jaws so he could talk.
    
      "Fuck you." Craig struggled but I quickly tightened my hold once more.
    
      "I ain't askin' for a favor, boy." I lowered my voice. "Consider this your only warning. And if you call the cops -- well, you know what happens to wife-beaters."
    
      I applied some pressure to neck and closed off his airway. Craig thought I was choking him to death. I might as well have. I relinquished pressure as soon as he fell faint. I knew Craig would be pissed once he woke up. He might say I even kidnapped Rachelle, so I doused his memories: I became an unknown loud noise.
    
      From Craig's point of view, he walked away from Rachelle to investigate and when he turned around, she had fled. To explain him being on the ground, I "suggested" that he drank himself silent. I still needed physical evidence though, so I pulled open the mini-bar, opened a few bottles of alcohol, splashed their contents over his hair, neck, and chest, and scattered the bottles around him.
    
      I was sure a toxicology test would disprove my set-up, but I was also sure there would be no such test. I wasn't going to kill Craig, and there would be no police report from Rachelle or about her. I would take care of things. I hadn't physically touched a thing at all, and Craig hadn't put his hands on me at all.
    
      Still, I needed to appear 'normal', so I grabbed a hand towel from the bathroom and covered my hands. I left the room using the hand towel as a cover, and visibly wiping my hands clean. I found it unnecessary; Rachelle was milling around in a daze.
    
      "Stanley? Wha'happened? Is'sit seven already?"
    
      "Yes that's right," I held the tipsy woman gently by the arm. "C'mon sugar. Let's go."
    
      Getting Rachelle into another cab was easy; it was masking her disheveled state that was hard. Instead of bringing her to a fancy restaurant as I had intended earlier, I brought her straight to my new home on 43rd. Aside from the unit Viktoriya was using, its companion unit (same floor, opposite side) was operational.
    
      Despite my hectic schedule, I had moved almost all of my things here to (what I thought) was a temporary location. Shawn, Melanie, Janet, and Viktoriya hadn't picked where they wanted to live yet, so I figured I'd sort that out later.
    
      I helped Rachelle into my working room and lay her down on the fold-down sofa-bed. The bed was the same model as the one in Viktoriya's New York City apartment. I liked it so much, I bought one myself, figuring I could move it into my room later.
    
      The mulatto was a mess. I was amazed she had remained awake this long because she blacked out as soon as her head hit the pillow. You may wonder why I hadn't brought her to a hospital. Well for one thing, I didn't trust them. I also didn't want records of her admittance.
    
      I guess I was still overly cautious and paranoid from what happened with Jamie. And I was unsure how Craig would react; I didn't want to leave a trail he could follow. I wondered now how much the police would involve themselves despite all the precautions I took.
    
      Well, we shall see, I thought. I had to have patience and see how things turned out. All I knew was that I was part of the invisible empire and I took care of my own -- be they gifted or not. I examined Rachelle's face and her bruising. Her wounds were very much like Jamie's after Pincelli hit her.
    
      I grabbed an egg from the refrigerator and plopped it into a pot. As the egg simmered in the boiling water, I ran some towels through some hot water. I wrung them dry and applied them gently on her arms and face. When I did, Rachelle gasped and opened her eyes.
    
      "Stanley?" she croaked. "What happened?"
    
      "You were beaten." I chose my words with care, "Looks worse than it is though. Are you in great pain?"
    
      "Just sore." Rachelle winced when she tried to adjust herself. "I feel awful. And tired."
    
      "Okay. Relax and rest." I stroked her hand gently and spoke in a soothing voice, "You're safe now. He won't bother you ever again."
    
      She closed her eyes. I could see tears well up as she fought the urge to cry. I sensed her anger and embarrassment so I turned away to tend the egg on the stove. When the water boiled the egg for a bit, I shut off the gas stove and took it back with me with a dish rag.
    
      "Ouch!" She winced when I rolled the hot egg gently against her mocha skin.
    
      "Sorry sugar." I gave her an apologetic grin. "Should've warned you."
    
      "What're you doing?" Rachelle whispered.
    
      "It's an old wives' remedy," I explained, "Similar to a heat-pack. Helps dissipate bruises by increasing your blood circulation."
    
      "Is it edible after?" she asked, "I'm starved."
    
      "I bet you are. Just wait a sec." I rolled the rapidly cooling egg on Rachelle's cheeks and temple. Her eyes watched me as I finished. I felt her body and mind relax a bit.
    
      "Here." I handed the egg to her. "I'll get you something for the shells."
    
      I grabbed a bowl and some napkins, passed them to her then headed back to the refrigerator and filled her a cool glass of chilled water.
    
      "Better?" I sat beside her.
    
      Rachelle nodded.
    
      "So, I pretty much wrecked dinner," I smiled apologetically. "Let's order in. What do you feel like?"
    
      "Anything's fine I s'pose," she said quietly.
    
      "All right." I patted her hand. I rung up a nearby Chinese place and ordered some wonton and dumpling noodles, and some Chinese broccoli in oyster sauce. I went out and was back in ten minutes. When I came back, I heard the shower hissing.
    
      "Dinner's served." I unpacked everything on the table.
    
      The shower's hiss stopped and I could hear her call out, "Stanley? Do you have towels?"
    
      "What?" I soured. "Right. Sorry. Gimme a second."
    
      I quickly slipped into Viktoriya's unit and grabbed two clean towels from the linen closet. She wouldn't miss them.
    
      "Here." I handed them to Rachelle. She took them gratefully and closed the bathroom door. When she came out, Rachelle was wearing just a bath towel. She had donned the one of the pair of slippers I used when I stayed overnight to work on the building interiors.
    
      "Is this where you live now?" she asked me.
    
      "Not exactly home is it?" I looked around.
    
      Compared to my old room, the unit was spartan and bare. Only some of the lights had been installed and fluorescent working lights illuminated the unfloored rooms. Spare wires stuck out from cut-outs in the walls, and grease paint marks delineated where future details were to go. I considered myself lucky to have a table, chairs, and a drawer full of napkins and disposable eating utensils.
    
      "It's different." Rachelle gave me a brave smile. "Doing some remodeling?"
    
      "Yeah." I took a bite from a dumpling and downed it before I could finish my answer. "Working on it for some time."
    
      "Oh I see," she said. "What's your landlord got to say about this?"
    
      "I am the landlord," I replied and she nodded. I prodded her when I saw she didn't touch her food. "Not your kinda thing?"
    
      "No, it's good." Rachelle pushed a wonton down and it immediately resurfaced around her fork. "I just don't want to cause you any trouble."
    
      "Trouble? What trouble?" I asked as I pulled some condiments from a packing box.
    
      "Craig may be a douche," she said quietly, "But his dad has friends in high places."
    
      "Oh really?" I pricked my ears and then searched her mind. "How high?"
    
      "I don't know," Rachelle said with a defeated tone. "Just high. That's how I got my job at the studio."
    
      "You'll be fine." I patted her hand. "If not, I'll do what I can to help."
    
      "You're too kind." She remained despondent.
    
      "What's wrong?" I tried to cheer her up. "Tell me."
    
      "Well, it's ..." Rachelle trailed off with a heavy sigh. She gathered herself and resumed, "I know my job and all but it's not something I'm that good with. I feel kinda lost to tell the truth."
    
      "Don't feel that bad." I suddenly remembered something. "Hey, I got something for you."
    
      "Oh? What is it?"
    
      I got up and rummaged through the things I'd already moved here. I found the package I was looking for. It was thrown in with a bunch of things labeled "fabric samples". I thought it was foolish of me to include it but I wanted anything and everything that could be used as examples for Gracia (our interior decorator). But there it was, unopened, just like I'd bought just today instead of a few months ago.
    
      "Here." I passed the package to her. "I meant to give it to you the next time I saw you, but things kinda got busy."
    
      Rachelle grasped the corner then looked at me quizzically. "May I?"
    
      "Of course sugar."
    
      I shot her that trademark grin of mine and she blushed. Her slim dark fingers put a little hole in the package and slowly tore it open. Rachelle's curious look was replaced by one of confusion then surprise as the contents poured out into her hand.
    
      "Oh -- my --" She gulped as her wide eyes saw the kimono I'd bought in Tokyo.
    
      "I kinda guessed your height and size and stuff." I managed a nervous laugh. "Hope it fits; if not we can adjust it --"
    
      "J-town," Rachelle whispered.
    
      "Yeah you remember right?" I felt giddy from the memory. "Remember that shop on the bridge? And, hey -- sugar, what's wrong?"
    
      I sensed she was fighting back the urge to cry, but that only made things worse. I stood close by and touched her arm gently.
    
      "Hey, hey, hey," I said gently, "I'm sorry Rachelle. I didn't mean it."
    
      She looked at me with wet but happy eyes; I waited patiently for her to say something but she only leaned close and hugged me.
    
      "Well look, if you hate the color that much," I joked good-naturedly, "I'll help you exchange it. No problems, sugar."
    
      Rachelle drew back in shock. Then she saw my stupid face and cracked a small smile. I laughed and ruffled her curly brown locks.
    
      "Stanley Chen," she hugged me and cried, "I shouldn't have ever let you go!"
    
      "Sssh darlin'," I held her close, "It's all good. No harm done."
    
      I blinked, surprised that Rachelle's sobs coming out stronger rather than subsiding. Did I say something wrong? I dared a peek into her mind and found that her life was pretty screwed up. Not as screwed up as Jamie's, but almost as much.
    
      Soon after Rachelle and I broke up, Craig had moved in for the kill. Rather than simple sex, he found controlling her more his thing. He helped her get a job at a low rent cable company, but it wasn't an act of altruism. His father owned a stake in the business and Craig put Rachelle's livelihood under his thumb.
    
      All that she bought and owned was, in a sick way, owned by Craig. Living under that kind of stress, I saw why Faraz had asked me if I saw Rachelle recently. Now that I had a chance to examine her closely, I noticed her eyes were bloodshot, her cheeks were shallow, and her skin was a little discolored.
    
      "Seeing you and Ghandia was just too much." Rachelle hugged me so tightly, I was having trouble drawing breath.
    
      "What?" I gave her an odd look, "Why's that?"
    
      "It -- it just made me so jealous." Her gaze dipped and avoided mine. "Am I crazy Stanley?"
    
      While Faraz wasn't the closest person to Rachelle (he was close only through Ghandia), having her own problems made her feel all alone just the same. Seeing Ghandia so widowed made Rachelle (and later on, me) wish that Craig had been the one killed instead of Faraz. I was never really interested in Ghandia.
    
      We were never close and I only tolerated her (and her big Jewish nose) because Faraz loved her so damn much. But after so many years, one can't just cut ties so easily; I tried to understand it from Rachelle's point of view and dealt with it as best I could.
    
      "No," I said, "You're not crazy."
    
      I fell into a silent gloom almost immediately. Talking about Ghandia simply reminded me of Faraz. Neighbors of his own countrymen, Saudi Arabians, had killed one of their own and didn't know it. It was like me killing Vietnamese boat people in the Tenderloin simply because they got in my way.
    
      Where was the sense in that? What kind of fool would let his self-righteousness blind him from rational thought? I had gotten so riled from Faraz's death, I didn't notice I was unconsciously crushing Rachelle with telekinesis.
    
      "Ugh, Stanley." I felt my black beauty fidget. "You're crushing me."
    
      "What?" I relinquished my grip immediately. "Oh, sorry."
    
      "That's all right. Rachelle touched my cheek gently. "It must be hard for you too."
    
      I shook off the feeling. I didn't need it clouding my mental clarity.
    
      "I'm fine sugar." I kissed her hand. "I'm more worried about you."
    
      "Same old Stanley," she murmured, "You worry too much."
    
      "Maybe so." I let out a small laugh and stroked the small of her back. The mulatto's next words came out slow.
    
      "What about her?" There was only one person she was referring to: Janet Wu.
    
      "Don't think about that," I murmured and kissed her. "This is our time."
    
      Rachelle didn't shy away, but she didn't respond either.
    
      "Can you hate me for being so jealous?" she asked softly.
    
      "Sugar," I rubbed her back, "I can never hate those I love."
    
      "What?!" She looked at me evenly, "You can't be serious about --!"
    
      When Rachelle saw my foolish grin, she shook her head and tried to pull away from me.
    
      "C'mon sugar." I tickled her chin, "It'll be just like old times!"
    
      "Along with old hurt!" Rachelle glared at me. "I can't!"
    
      "Rachelle. Sugar," I calmed her as best I could, "Sit. I think you need to hear me out."
    
      I lead my mulatto minx to the sofa-bed and sat her down. I took her hand and started to explain. Okay, so I also did a little "persuasion". Sue me. I loved her, she was in trouble, and there was only one way I knew how to do things.
    
      I started with Janet (and left out the naughtier parts), moved onto Shawn (ditto), Melanie (had to), Viktoriya (bimbo), and lastly Jamie (hubba-hubba). Rachelle was completely cowed and blown away at my revelations.
    
      "Y--you're kidding me right?" She looked at me with fright in her eyes. "You're a Mormon?"
    
      "Hell no." I made a face and replied, "You knew me from back when we were dating; I don't care for church."
    
      "But what you're doing is --" Rachelle covered her mouth.
    
      "Sssh!" I put a finger to my lips, "It's called bigamy and it's illegal, but only if paperwork is filed."
    
      She looked at me confused. "What do you mean if paperwork gets filed?"
    
      "Look, Janet and I have been researching this for some time now," I explained, "She and I think we have it airtight because we're not going to leave a paper trail."
    
      "What?! That's crazy!" My dark darling lay back, shaking her head. "You're crazy Stanley, if you think you can marry that many women and get away with it."
    
      I grinned and grazed her smooth tan thighs. "Wanna bet sugar?"
    
      Rachelle had the temerity to laugh. I didn't care if it was directed at me or not; so long as she was smiling. I felt her old self slowly coming back. My touch had the effect I wanted. She was relaxed now, her mind and body susceptible to my words once more.
    
      Nevertheless, I sensed her reluctance. It was only natural, I knew but I was pumped from all the running about. Having my mocha-skinned mulatto alone with me in a room and so close brought back both nostalgia, and a level of horniness I hadn't possessed since I was a teenager.
    
      I cautiously extended a hand and rested my palm on her knee. Rachelle didn't push me away, nor did she urge me on. I gave her knee a squeeze and I saw her cheeks redden slightly. Thus encouraged, I began massaging her thighs and calves. She groaned softly as I slowly worked over her body with my fingers.
    
      It had been some time since the two of us were intimate, so Rachelle was surprised that my grip was so much stronger. Actually, it was a combination of practice (I had plenty) and my gift, especially telekinesis. Although I was not as adept as Viktoriya with telekinesis initially, I was surprised how skilled I became with it with constant practice.
    
      Rachelle's lovely legs trembled as my fingers danced over her dark brown skin. When I sensed her doubts waning, I leaned down and kissed her gently on a spot of her cheek that wasn't bruised. She gasped in surprise and her legs clamped shut. I went slow, calming her down and stoking my dark darling's inner lust. We hadn't seen each other in four years and I wasn't sure if (or how) her habits and boundaries changed.
    
      As I kissed her neck and breasts, Rachelle sighed and signaled she was quite content with what I was doing. I slipped my hands under her towel and she responded instantly by grabbing me in the right places. I slipped the kimono back into its pouch and put it gently on the ground.
    
      Rachelle smiled shyly as I pulled off the towel that hid her nakedness and draped it neatly beside her on the bed. Her twat was now a thick patch of curly fur, very much like what it used to be except a bigger, thicker expanse. I bent down and sniffed. Her familiar mocha musk came back to me and I felt my dick point to attention at the scent.
    
      She gasped as I pulled her legs apart and kissed the sides of her thighs and backs of her calves. Fucking five other girls on a nearly regular basis for the past fourteen years had pretty much made me a seasoned pro. I teased her freshly bathed legs and buttocks, not bothering to dive straight for her twat.
    
      The room was a little chilly, so Rachelle pulled the towel over her like a makeshift blanket. I didn't mind as my mulatto minx half-lay, half-sat her nice long tan legs spread wide. I crammed myself in between her tender brown loins and ate her out.
    
      "Oh fuck. That feels good," Rachelle sighed as she lay down on her back.
    
      I felt her whole body relax and wondered if I should ping Viktoriya. After all, she did want to see Rachelle. But then again, Viktoriya was carrying my child. There was no telling what the pregnancy was doing to her mind. Would she get jealous, I wondered. Or would she... Forget it.
    
      I would leave Viktoriya alone for tonight. After all, she was going to be the first one I was going to see tomorrow. I'd speak to Vika about this then. For now, I'm going to have my fun.
    
      Rachelle's cunt had cracked open just a bit from my teasing. I slowly kissed the insides of her legs; first one side then the other, and inched slowly towards that sweet slice of mocha muff.
    
      "Oh Stanley stop," she whispered, "I -- I'm not on the pill."
    
      "I got that covered baby." I murmured then nibbled her clit such that it made her cry out.
    
      As Rachelle was caught in the sudden throe of ecstasy, I used telekinesis to yank a little box of saran wrap from the top of the refrigerator. The box flew silently (and unobtrusively) under the sofa-bed.
    
      I gave the dark beauty a few loving licks, savored her delicious cooze ooze, and tore a small bit of wrap for my cock. Without any cooking oil, I had to improvise a little. I lay kisses on her beautiful brown body as I crawled beside her so my head was level with hers.
    
      I played with her titties and shrouding my fingers with the gentlest force my mind could create, I slid a "fattened" version of my fingers into her vagina and easily reached her G-spot.
    
      "Oh GOD!!" Rachelle's eyes bugged out as she sucked in her breath.
    
      "Feel good sugar?" I asked her with a wink.
    
      She nodded and kissed me tenderly while I jerked her juice box. With her fuck musk now flowing, there was no need for lubrication. Her face registered mild dissatisfaction when I pulled my shrouded fingers out, but only briefly. Rachelle moaned with pleasure as I slid in atop her.
    
      "Oh yes. Oh fuck yes," Rachelle kissed me and put her arms around my neck. "Just like old times."
    
      I grunted as I slaked my lust. I pumped her as she wrapped her legs around me. I felt her thighs surround my waist and remembered the stupid things we did so long ago. The handjob in Santa Cruz. The second time we did anal. The dates we'd go on where'd we'd tried to sneak a quickie: at the playground, at the school stadium, but most of all, in my old room.
    
      My old room. Where my legally married wife and first-born son were living now. My black beauty must've misread my frown because she pawed my cheeks gently and held my head as I began to thrust harder.
    
      "Fuck me, sugar," the mulatto breathed hotly in my face. "Fuck me just like old times. I want you."
    
      Rachelle ran her fingers through my hair and coaxed me until I climaxed.
    
    ===============================================================================
      INTERLUDE -- CHINESE SIX-COURSE MEAL
    ===============================================================================
    
      The day after taking Rachelle back into my life, I was a busy man. I left early and grabbed some things (without arousing Janet's suspicion) from my old room at 35th Avenue, headed back to the unit at 43rd Avenue, peeked in on Viktoriya (who threw a fit when she learned I had bedded Rachelle without letting her in on the action -- go figure).
    
      Next, I took Rachelle back to her room at the Parc 55 so she could grab what was left of her things (Craig had checked out and took mostly his things), headed back to 43rd Avenue where Viktoriya invited Rachelle to stay the night (three guesses why), spent the day with Jamie and Jill (Viktoriya traded my time to get to know Rachelle -- a fair trade).
    
      I finally ended the night by spending time with my First wife and son, but I was so tired, I mostly let the baby eat, sleep, poop, and drool on my face (not all necessarily in that order). Backers of polygamy as the "ideal" male lifestyle can suck my filthy uncut dick.
    
      I felt more like Ray Liotta's mob snitch in "Goodfellas" than the king of the world. I seriously wanted to kill myself so I could get a good night's sleep. Janet Wu of course, nearly saved me that trouble.
    
      Viktoriya called her "Tom-Boy" behind her back, but I had another nickname for my dutiful First. I called Jan the "three-strike" woman. This wasn't in reference to baseball or even California's law of the same name, but rather it was in reference to the three strikes I had done her wrong: my first strike was Rachelle Hollister; my second strike was Jamie Yang (formerly Young) and her daughter Jillian; and my third strike was bringing the aforementioned women into the household.
    
      Janet stayed dutiful and devoted despite all three affronts, so I pretty much didn't have much wiggle-room after that. Everything came to a head in less than a month's time. It wasn't all Jamie's fault, but with Viktoriya, Melanie, and Shawn knowing Jamie's existence and keeping it a secret for different reasons, Janet was sure something was happening behind her back. So she asked Melanie to help her bring some things to the 43rd Avenue building so she could snoop around.
    
      My resourceful Lady Wu had a legitimate reason though: she wanted to see her unit up close. By now, I had asked everyone for their preferences: Melanie and Shawn immediately took the top-most floor, each for different reasons.
    
      Melanie wanted to cook and aside from being close to the rooftop garden, her ventilation system would be running at full blast. The structural engineer (impeccable work by a fellow named Jules Fontana -- yes this is a plug in a porn story), Shawn, and I figured it would be best to build an easily replaceable vent pipe from the top-floor east unit to the one side of the building that wasn't covered by Shawn's solar wall.
    
      The larger pipe was the only thing that marred Melanie's unit but she didn't mind. She painted a target on the side and fired spitballs at it when she was bored. The wider pipe did give Yu-Ching's unit a slightly lower ceiling in that part of the kitchen. Being the tallest one (i.e., my height) Rachelle suffered a mild concussion once when she ran headlong into it when she was chasing one of the kids around (for some reason, she was wearing heels that time).
    
      Shawn wanted the other top-floor unit simply because she wanted to be near the roof system she had so lovingly crafted. The drainage schematics she'd drafted were perfected by Jules and included into the design of the solar girdle-wall (heating some of the water for the plants at night). In fairness to her great contribution, the others agreed.
    
      Up for grabs were the second and third residential floors (there was the ground floor and a first residential floor above it). Janet was leery and wanted to be on the same floor with me. However, I hadn't picked yet a unit yet. Since I couldn't get the interior designer (fellow Berkeley CED alum Gracia Kosugi) started until everyone had a unit, Janet gave up trying to predict where I would stay and opted for the second floor's east unit.
    
      "It's about the middle," Janet said. "I'd figure I'd meet you halfway."
    
      "Thanks." I managed a grin. Of course, nowadays she claims I took great liberty with her answer.
    
      Viktoriya had gotten quite comfortable in her unit (first floor west). Since she was getting bigger by the day, she decided to stay put.
    
      "I'm quite comfy right where you put me kisa," she stated simply.
    
      "All righty," I rubbed her tummy gently. "But if you change your mind --?"
    
      "Stanislav, Stanislav, Stanislav!" Viktoriya scolded. "Don't worry any more. I'm happy. Understand?"
    
      I wanted to add that Viktoriya's unit was one of those weirder set-ups. She requested smoothed, curved vertices in her room, so I had to add some special moldings on the tops of the rooms. Viktoriya also requested that the lights in her room be inset or smoothed over with their housings. Later, I learned it was so she could practice pushing balls with her telekinesis without any protrusions getting in her way.
    
      'How are you going to hide that from the baby?' I thought-spoke with her one day.
    
      'I hadn't thought that far ahead.' Viktoriya gave me a goofy grin. 'Don't worry. We'll figure out something if he's not like his mama and papa.'
    
      'How do you know it's a he?' I grinned while not a peep of our conversation could be overheard by the others.
    
      'Mother's intuition.' Viktoriya placed my hand on her enlarged belly. 'I think he'll have your eyes, lyubimy.'
    
      We bumped foreheads and swirled once or twice in mid-air before settling down for the night. Meanwhile, I personally opted for second floor west, right next to Janet (she was happy) and right above Viktoriya (who licked her lips at the suggestive turn of that phrase).
    
      I certainly didn't want to stay in the first-floor east unit; it was directly over the door to the ground level parking garage. I figured even with sound-proofing, the noise would drive whoever stayed there batty. I proposed that it be used as a guest unit (or storage space) or until a better use could be found for it. Like the other units though, it was fully furnished, so anyone could live in it in an emergency.
    
      So, Janet (carrying Michael) and Melanie walked into this mess when I drove back to 43rd Avenue with Rachelle and Viktoriya. I had been speaking with Gracia about the materials and other furnishings, conferencing with Jules (mostly about the piping in Melanie's room) and Shawn (I paid for all her phone conferences on the project -- she wanted to put in her two cents in) so I wasn't on my highest alert.
    
      Janet's first reaction when she saw Rachelle was, "What's she doing here?!"
    
      While I was trying to formulate an answer, Jamie (seeing the garage door open) walked in with Jillian in tow. When Jill rushed up to hug me screaming, "Daddy!!" Janet's resulting shriek was heard a block away.
    
      "WHO THE HELL IS THAT!?"
    
      Baby Mikey immediately started wailing. Melanie caught him in time as Janet's legs wobbled and nearly gave way. Viktoriya supported her until she could lean on a nearby car. My dusky Russkie then did her best to steer clear of my rampaging First.
    
      'Uh-oh, kisa.' My Baltic beauty thought-spoke. 'Busted!!'
    
      Yeah, I felt my face grow hot. It was going to be one of those days.
    
    ===============================================================================
      ILLNESS
    ===============================================================================
    
      Janet was understandably livid. She only calmed down enough to stop raising her voice, which suited me fine for the moment; it only annoyed me and made little Mikey cry. Still, it made me nervous. Her fury threatened to bubble up again when she got it out of Viktoriya, Melanie and Shawn that they'd know about Jamie and Jillian since _last year_ and none of them had told her about it.
    
      I suppose I could've apologized and take what was coming, but I didn't. I did the one thing I knew I was good at: I tried to persuade her. I was stretching it for sure but I only needed to sway my strong-willed Janet. I had one hand on Melanie's shoulder and a second on Viktoriya. I surmised it had worked before (in Shawn's apartment all those years ago) so I decided to risk it.
    
      I had worked too hard and too long to fore-go it all. If Janet decided to leave, I suppose I could've kept going. Maybe even drown my sorrows in a new woman. But I didn't want a new woman; I just wanted Janet to stay. Stay, so we could make each other happy, or mad, or crazy.
    
      I wanted her to help me pelt our kids with paint ball guns or bushwhackers if they misbehaved. I didn't care what we did so long as we could grow old together. It was a hard sell, but I pushed for it.
    
      Facing Janet's stern granite face like they were on trial, Jamie's and Rachelle's faces were a mix of confusion, embarrassment, and (from Jamie) fear. I realized later I was speaking Cantonese most of the time (sorry, no dialogue here, because I couldn't even remember more than a tenth of it). Melanie understood the whole thing (she doesn't like to talk about it) and Viktoriya got the gist of it as I spoke.
    
      When I finished, I felt more dead than alive. The strain must've been getting to me. Not only was I busy with my own building, but I was setting up a new method of laundering more money. I went through Jacob Waters' mind to look for some hints on money laundering and racketeering (well more the former than the latter). I learned that if I owned a discount dollar store (where items sold for a buck) and cooked the books, I could clean the dough I'd earned from the border (all ten or eleven million).
    
      The process was easy: buy a bunch of crap from overstock and sell it for $1 (per item). This generates some sort of sales. Use the dirty money as your investment, report it as revenue (how ever fantastic it was -- $500,000 meant you sold 500,000 items), pay your damn taxes and ta-da: "cleaned" money.
    
      Of course, it didn't help that my "nest egg" became a "treasure trove" after I spent three days in Cartagena and Medellin in Colombia. There, I assisted Tseng and two other empire citizens (Galen and Kari -- these two are geo-caching fanatics; they just completed their fifth trip around the world, with junior in tow) in taking on La Corporacion. We went into town and came out with a pretty neat cut.
    
      Galen and Kari were a complicated couple: he was descended from an Algerian "pieds noir" (French colonist in Algeria), looked white, but acted like he was right at home in Africa. She was a light skinned Nubian lovely who readily spoke French and English as much as she did her own tongue (forget which one exactly).
    
      Both were perfectly happy taking the drugs for resale. I took a split of the money with Tseng (roughly 30-70, which still amounted to about ten million for my share) and I took what weapons I could find. In the wake of 9/11, I had to be extra careful with cargo.
    
      Cash I could move easily; Galen and Kari could take care of their drugs and Tseng ... well, he was Tseng. He'd find a way to get what he wanted. Personally, I wanted to take some of the heavy stuff (to get familiar with them) but decided not to. Where the hell was I going to store a 100 mm tankgun (stripped from a new build Russian T-55)? Or Chinese made anti-aircraft Silkworm (Stinger clones) missiles? Or Russian AT-8s? Or tele-guided MILANs? I'll tell you what -- no where.
    
      As for the rest, I settled for two stolen M-82s (.50 caliber BMG anti-material 'counter-sniping' rifle), a vintage M2 Browning Machinegun (dating back to the Vietnam War), a dozen Russian AP-mines, a few automatic shotguns, a crate of AK-74Us (with the then-new synthetic stocks) along with their associated magazines, mounting rails, ammunition, and cleaning gear.
    
      There were also some handy low-light night scopes. There was even a case of experimental H&K G-11 caseless ammunition. I was eager to see how that stuff worked since I was so focused on breaking firing pins and depressing safeties. By now, my weapons stash on Masonic Street had gotten so ridiculous, the block was liable to become a crater if the building caught on fire.
    
      My extra-curricular activities compounded the pressure when I applied for -- and got -- a new job at Ditomer Design. Not that Ferguson hadn't been good for me in the year and a half I'd been with them but I felt I needed to expand my horizons. At my new job, I wasn't simply a CAD-man but an actual architect (with CAD drawing as my forte), so my new income was a little more (like 105,000 instead of 95,000). But that still barely covered my mortgage and expenses.
    
      Janet's pending decision didn't help my situation. Rachelle and Jamie (Jillian was at her grandparents for the day) were with me in the hall while Janet conferenced with Viktoriya and Melanie. Because of her time difference, Shawn e-mailed her opinion. However, Janet was in no way obligated to take her opinion into account.
    
      Great apprehension filled me when we were called back in. Janet looked unhappy, and rendered her decision: since I was such a damn fool, Jamie could stay (along with Jill).
    
      "And Rachelle?" I asked.
    
      Janet's nostrils visibly flared, but at the corner of my eye, I could see Melanie put a gentle hand on my First's shoulder.
    
      "She can stay too Stanley," my Little Chen said quietly.
    
      I nearly swore aloud with relief. I didn't know how, but Melanie managed to convince my testy Janet once more. I never thought to ask Yu-Ching to do anything like that crazy ever again; it explains why I spoil her so much now.
    
      "However, as a condition -- MY condition," my First suddenly chimed in, "I want both of you to undergo AIDS/STD screening. No if's, and's, or but's."
    
      "What!?" Rachelle sprang to her feet, insulted. "Why I never --!"
    
      "This isn't just about you." Janet's voice was icy cold. "I don't want anything to happen to our children, or their mothers."
    
      Rachelle's mouth instantly snapped shut while Jamie fidgeted under Janet's stern gaze. Only the Asian beauty mumbled quiet acceptance; my black beauty kept quiet, but if her looks could kill, they would've.
    
      "Thank you," I finally managed to mumble.
    
      "Oh, don't thank me just yet." A hateful little grin slipped over Janet's icy demeanor. "The results aren't in yet."
    
      My redoubtable Lady Wu's gaze swept over a cowering Jamie and a defiant Rachelle. I got the feeling from Janet that if either girl tested positive, she'd not only kick them out, but she'd forbid me from ever touching her ever again. Wow. Viktoriya was right. Janet can be a real bitch.
    
      'Told you, kisa.' Viktoriya gave me a rueful smile as she sat quietly beside Melanie and Janet.
    
      As humiliating as her request was, it made sense. Jamie though, had been preparing for this. She'd gotten tested a week before and had the paperwork and results to prove it. When I asked her why, she confessed.
    
      "I -- I wanted to show you I was clean," Jamie stammered, "I want to have a baby with you Stanley. I didn't want you to worry, especially --"
    
      I stopped her before she started blubbering. This was already hard enough. Jamie didn't need to dredge up her old past. So, all that remained was for me to take Rachelle down to the hospital to get tested. The mulatto felt humiliated. I caught thoughts from her that I dared not repeat aloud. While I had convinced Janet to let Rachelle stay, my dark beauty was nearly fed up with my First's bitchiness. I guess there really couldn't be two queens in a kingdom ...
    
      "What do you see in her?" Rachelle complained as we headed back to the car.
    
      "Jan's cool once you get to know her." I felt a little woozy. I had given a little blood.
    
      And why not? To show my support, I underwent the same test as Rachelle. I wanted to prove to Janet that I was fine too. Then, as an afterthought, I decided to stock another pint of blood (my blood type, O-positive, could be used by almost anyone). I was looking ahead, worried about Viktoriya's pregnancy.
    
      "Yeah right," she sighed. "You know she's what broke us up right?"
    
      "Don't remind me."
    
      "Hey sugar?" I felt Rachelle's grip on my arm. "You okay? You don't look too good, Stanley."
    
      "Me? Don't be silly." I managed to laugh, but it sounded like a distant cackle made by another person. "I'm fine."
    
      "No, you look a little pale." Rachelle started to sound worried. "You sure you want to drive?"
    
      "I just got a new project at Ditomer," I began rambling. "We're specialists in arcology. Presentation next week. Won't Shawn be proud?"
    
      "Stanley?! Sugar!?" Rachelle's voice seemed far away now. Was it time to sleep? It sure felt like it. I was tired. I wondered why the bed was so cold though. Must be because it was made of concrete. I lay down and slept. Rachelle can take care of things. Heck, any of my talented darlings could.
    
    ===============================================================================
      BEDRIDDEN
    ===============================================================================
    
      I was dimly aware of what happened next. From what I could gather later, Rachelle dragged me back into the emergency room with the help of a security guard and an orderly enjoying a smoke break (hospital staff who smoke are one of the greatest ironies in the health industry). After a few shots and a few quick tests, the doctors slapped me with a $300 emergency room bill and sent me to my new home to "rest".
    
      "Nervous exhaustion," was what one of the doctors said.
    
      I was pretty much out of it, but picked up thoughts and spoken sentences as I drifted in and out of consciousness. I wasn't sure where I was; all I knew was that there were people arguing.
    
      "Why'd you let him draw blood?" Janet snapped. "He didn't need to get tested, or did he?!"
    
      "You selfish --!!" Rachelle held back her swearing, but nothing else. "He was supportive. Stanley got tested because he wanted to! And how about you?!"
    
      "What about me?!" my First's voice rose appreciably. "I've only fucked one guy for the past fifteen years! How many times did your 'ex' dive in au-natural!?"
    
      "That's none of your damn business!!" Rachelle's voice rose to a scream as she pointed at Jamie. "And how about her?! Why're you picking on me?!"
    
      "Don't look at me!" Jamie, trying to hide behind herself "I only --!!"
    
      "No one asked you!!" Janet shrieked.
    
      'Kisa! Wake up, please!' Viktoriya pinged me, hoping I was still in full control of myself. 'Stop them! They're giving me a headache!'
    
      I heard her, but my mind was too sluggish to form any coherent thoughts.
    
      "You two-timing, conniving no-good--!!" Janet paused and swallowed -- likely to withhold the N-word. It was something one wouldn't want to say to someone of Rachelle's ethnicity.
    
      "Say it!" Rachelle stood with her hands balled into fists. "I dare you to say that right now to my face!!"
    
      Oh thank God, I grew relieved as I caught up with everyone's trains of thought. Rachelle thought Janet was only going to call her a 'bitch' and not a 'nigger'. Wait. I giggled soundlessly. That wasn't good either. By now, Janet had rolled up her sleeves and stared down the bigger girl.
    
      "You. Stupid. Dumb --!!"
    
      "STOP IT!!!" The silence was as sudden and as surprising as who said it. I knew that voice. I had been familiar with it since she was just a child.
    
      "Enough you two!" Melanie cried. "Don't you think you can help Stanley guo-guo instead of fighting!? What's wrong with you two?!"
    
      Janet was flustered, "Melanie, I --!!"
    
      "Shut up!" Little Chen said tearfully, "That's all he does day in and day out! He worked himself sick for you! All of you!! Don't any of you remember why he did this in the first place?!"
    
      "Stanley BUILT this home so everyone he loves can be happy," Melanie glared at all of them. "It's so he could be with us and be a family. Right now, you two are just making his life miserable!"
    
      'Ouch.' Viktoriya tried to ping me again, then remembered I was unresponsive. 'Stanislav, if you can hear this, I think the little one just appointed herself as your guardian angel.'
    
      That's nice, Vika. The thought-speech barely reached her as I focused blankly at the room around me through half-closed eyes.
    
      "So, unless you want me to really lose my temper," Melanie said through clenched teeth, "All of you GET OUT of my room and let him get some sleep."
    
      Huh, interesting. I guess I was in Yu-Ching's quarters. It's just that Jules and the contractor hadn't put in her ventilation pipe yet. That could explain why it was so warm.
    
      'Don't think about ventilation pipes.' Viktoriya finally picked up enough of my thoughts as she departed with the others. I saw she was carrying little Mikey in her arms. 'And don't worry, Stanislav. I will try and mediate if they go at it again.'
    
      I barely remembered how to thank her in Russian. 'Spasee-ba.'
    
      'You're welcome, lyubimy.' She placed a kiss on my son - her step-son. 'Rest now. You're in good hands.'
    
    ===============================================================================
      DUE RECOGNITION
    ===============================================================================
    
      Thankfully, Rachelle's test results came back negative and I eventually got my strength back. I breathed a big sigh of relief because trying to celebrate New Year's 2002 was one of the most arduous things I'd done to date.
    
      I had to do "ying-chou" to Janet's family (who wanted to spend the holidays with their grandson), my family (ditto), and down the line I went: Melanie's family, Jamie's family, Rachelle's family, Viktoriya's family (we flew to Indiana, where we placated them with a sham marriage), and on and on until I ran out of obligations.
    
      I thought I was going to get ill all over again. For the moment, Janet and Rachelle settled on tolerating one another, if only for my sake. They avoided one another when they could, but kept quiet when they had to be in the same room.
    
      Until their rivalry died out, I didn't want to force the issue. I knew I had to give them time. People changed as they grow older. Besides, one can't have it all, but I had to admit I got pretty damn close.
    
      During my illness, I did my best to telecommute, falling back to do plans where needed. Ditomer did not do construction drawings; that's what firms like Ferguson are for, and what I chiefly specialized in. I learned later this would come back to haunt me (but more on that later). The fallout from the Trade Center's destruction continued.
    
      As soon as I was well, I was called away to investigate the source of some possible bio-terror with the team. Once I got back, I was (of course) flooded with business to take care of.
    
      It was around this time some exciting news occurred with Shawn. My plump dumpling had been away when Janet and Rachelle finally met and had it out. I was curious about how she voted though. Since I couldn't mind-read e-mail, I dug a bit into both Shawn's and Janet's minds and tried to figure out how Shawn voted. As it turned out, that whole voting idea pretty much upset the old ties that the girls had developed.
    
      Originally friendly (or at least amicable) towards everyone (especially Melanie), Janet began forming a deeper bond with Jamie out of the commonality of being mothers. I suspected my First also found Jamie very much a well-meaning doormat. While Janet was still friendly with Melanie, she was more wary since Yu-Ching's outburst. It seemed no matter what Janet thought, Little Chen would likely be on my side rather than _her_ side.
    
      Viktoriya and Rachelle were friendly (although my Russian hottie was pretty disappointed that Rachelle didn't muff dive) but to say they were close would be a mistake. My Russian darling was equally friendly with both Shawn and Janet (mostly because these two _had_ muff dived, though that pretty much slowed once they had children). She didn't mind Melanie, who was generally as perverted, nor did she mind Jamie, who was (just barely) sexually permissive after she had a few.
    
      Rachelle grew quite close to Shawn not simply because she had met her before, but because my roly poly darling had sided with the mulatto. My dark beauty appreciated Shawn's honesty and straight-forwardness. My mocha mate also had a good relationship with Viktoriya. While I was still ill, Viktoriya had accompanied her down to Los Angeles so she wouldn't have to face Craig alone.
    
      'Wait.' I thought-spoke when I learned of their plans. 'What if he gets violent? You can't just punch him Vika. Not in the state you're in.'
    
      'I'll do more than punch him.' Viktoriya mused. 'I can probably floor him with what you've taught me.'
    
      Well, I didn't want it to come to that. My Cossack cutie wasn't as well-versed in how things were done in the empire. Simply pushing him down with telekinesis wouldn't do. Nonetheless, I wasn't in much condition to assist in person. So, I called on some help.
    
      Faraz's sister Ami was attending school in UCLA. She and Faraz had both experienced backlash after the 1993 WTC bombing (and again in 1996). After 9/11, she was practically ostracized by all but her closest friends. She was glad she could prove useful and still "American".
    
      Ameena grabbed her stun gun and pepper spray, and escorted both women until Rachelle got her things and left. That show of support was more than enough to face down a coward like Craig Simmons.
    
      Jamie and Shawn were the meekest of the group, but each for different reasons. My beautiful Asian siren had a tough time fitting in between Janet's strong-willed bullying and Viktoriya's salacious attempts to get her drunk to dyke out.
    
      After Viktoriya had given birth (this was a few months later), Jamie often accompanied the Baltic brunette to get back into shape (all the women worked out but in different fashion: Shawn was content to swim like I did; Rachelle, Viktoriya and Jamie preferred pilates and gym machines while Janet and Melanie preferred calisthenics and tai-chi).
    
      One day, Jamie came back from the gym with a rather shocked look on her face.
    
      "Stanley?" She nudged me. "Did you know Viktoriya was bisexual?"
    
      "Uh, maybe." I hesitated briefly. "I think she told me before. Why? What'd she do?" I nearly added the word "now" to the end of that sentence, but stopped myself just in time.
    
      "Because, I think she made a pass at me in the gym."
    
      "If she makes you uncomfortable," I patted her hand, "then tell her off."
    
      "Could you come with me?" she pulled me up. "She'd listen to you."
    
      So we both went to Viktoriya's an hour later and tried that. The next thing I knew, I was sandwiched between a nude, undulating Viktoriya and a nude, writhing Jamie as our bodies shuddered to a collective orgasm. Apparently, Viktoriya and I were able to trigger a localized psychic event ourselves. It was pretty cool.
    
      While Viktoriya's baby was in the same room, his mind was still thankfully too undeveloped to be affected by a general psychic event; only a focused effort would've affected him (later on, as I grew more adept at managing such unexpected mental reactions when I kissed Viktoriya or Melanie, I always made it a rule to have our children someplace else -- next room, another unit, at a friend's house, etc. -- when I was intimate with one of their mothers; I didn't want anything bad to happen to them). When we left, Jamie was still in a mild state of shock.
    
      "I'd never thought that'd happen!" the Asian beauty confessed sheepishly.
    
      "Me neither." I put my palm against her ass. Jamie kept it there as we walked back together.
    
      'See Stanislav?' Viktoriya gloated through thought-speak. 'Told you it'd be fun!'
    
      'Ah-ha.' I thought back. 'But I can still walk.'
    
      'Braggart.' Through mind-sight I watched Viktoriya pick-up her baby to nurse him. 'Next time, I'll fuck you into a cripple.'
    
      'Now who's bragging?' I felt giddy knowing my dusky Russian was feeling like herself again. The doom and gloom she had felt weeks earlier in New York had vanished.
    
      Jamie was more than happy to spend time with her daughter Jillian, with Melanie, or with me. Her CS/IT (computer science information technology) studies had been coming along great and she was rapidly getting the hang of things. Jamie also wasn't idle; she was searching for entry level jobs at the college as she completed her studies.
    
      Shawn, in the meantime, was shy simply because she wasn't as attractive as the others; she could probably beat someone to death with those H-cup tits of hers. She was also a bit clumsy except when she was playing the flute.
    
      However, she possessed a sharp mind in her buxom body. And it was that beautiful mind which got the attention of Architectural Digest (a well-known magazine in our business), Architectural Record (our professional journal), Scientific American (about inventors and inventions), and Popular Science (a science and technology periodical).
    
      This was exciting news (for us design practitioners at least). Shawn's solar wall design and drainage system (with Jules's assistance) for the rooftop garden got noticed by a busy-body at the fabrication yard and he made some calls.
    
      Since I had used our 43rd Avenue address for the invoice, I was more than surprised that several official looking letters were addressed to a Miss Shawn Ellen Horten. Curious, I made some calls to the editorial staff, and between them, biointroscopy, and mind-reading, I found out what was going on.
    
      "Hey muffin," I called her late one night (early afternoon for her), "Did you know Architectural Digest, the Record, and some other magazines want to interview you?"
    
      "Interview me?" Shawn gasped. "Really? You're not pranking me are you Stanley? I'm too old for that now."
    
      "Sure you are," I laughed. "Just like you're too old to enjoy pumpkin gelatin and sweet milk."
    
      "Lucky guess Stanley." I heard her breathe into the phone. "How'd you know I was havin' that?"
    
      Because I can spy through your mind, I thought. Instead, I chuckled and said, "Because you have such a sweet tooth, cutie pie."
    
      Shawn giggled and I pictured her plump body jiggling cutely as she did. We discussed when she could come back without jeopardizing her graduate studies in Tokyo. From the work schedule, Gracia (our interior designer) was to have the place done by the end of summer.
    
      We figured that would be the best time to talk to the Digest (which was more of a fashion showcase than an actual journal) whereas we wanted to prove the structural elements of the girdle-wall and drainage systems to the Record.
    
      Since the Record was a professional journal, Shawn's article would have to be reviewed and approved by a panel of three other licensed and practicing architects or engineers; she already had enough to do at the Tokyo Institute of Technology without doing more work. So, it was up to Jules (our structural engineer guy) and me to test the girdle-wall and saw to it that the drainage system on the rooftop worked.
    
      Run-off water (from the roof and rain and the building's showers) was to be collected and recycled back into garden gray water. But they'd also be funneled through part of the solar wall to collect heat; the water could be used to insulate the house in summer (water is a great heat-sink) and to keep the plants warm at night as heated gray water.
    
      Since the building's steel could bear a greater load, I was able to build a small (light wood frame) pavilion in the midst of the garden and used soft mats (from recycled tire rubber) to protect the roof from foot traffic. Overall, the roof of the building could bear a great deal of weight -- more than fifteen times the "standard" amount. Jules, like most structural engineers, erred on the side of caution.
    
      It was all good. The only interruptions, aside from work at the firm, were from the occasional agency calls, Rachelle's temporary move into my unit at 43rd Avenue (until her unit was finished by Gracia), Melanie's new job as an apprentice chef at the Pacific Coast Club of San Francisco, Janet going back to work and bitching (to me, who else?) about leaving Mikey with my parents or her parents (everyone took turns), and Viktoriya's pregnancy.
    
      For a time, I shuttled back and forth from three places: Jamie's rented apartment (so I could check on both mother and daughter until their lease expired and their unit was ready), my old room (to be with Janet and Mikey), and my new building (Rachelle and Viktoriya). Thus, I was extremely grateful I was at 43rd Avenue when Viktoriya's water broke.
    
      Rachelle helped me drive her to the hospital, where I expected her to be in labor for just a little bit. However, Viktoriya wouldn't stand for it, nor did she have the patience. I broke into a nervous sweat when some parked cars outside started up their alarms; my Baltic siren was lashing out with her telekinesis.
    
      With some judicious and clever application of our combined gifts, we finally formed an invisible telekinetic "bubble" over the baby and eased him out. Milhail (essentially 'Michael' in Rumanian) popped out with such ease that Viktoriya's discomforting cries quickly gave way to a relieved grunt.
    
      She looked at me in surprise and asked aloud if "it" was out. I grinned and handed her the wailing infant so he could nurse. Mother and child stayed at the hospital just for a day before Viktoriya insisted on going home.
    
      'Maybe that old sow Janna still has milk.' Viktoriya dug up some old barbs as I drove mother and child home.
    
      'Now Vika.' I scolded her in our secret tongue. 'You nurse him. I think it'll be best.'
    
      'Who are you to say!?' She lashed back. 'I need a wet-nurse or baby formula otherwise he'll chew my nips off! Or do you not care about me you heartless beast?'
    
      Oh boy, I thought. Thankfully, I had some help on hand. Despite being saddled with work and Mikey, Janet made herself useful by going to Viktoriya's place to help out. I felt my panic grow anew when Janet moved into her new condo across the hall. And it wasn't just Janet causing all my anxiety.
    
      By now, my parents were very curious about my comings and goings. They were suspicious how I could get that place at all; however, my worries were more about how'd my parents would react to Viktoriya's son. I was sure they'd hit the roof if they visited Janet at the new place and found Viktoriya bouncing Milhail on her knee; despite his Eurasian features, the little boy was unmistakably mine.
    
      "You mean they'd blow their top like me?" Janet gave me a sour look. "It's not personal or unseemly. Viktoriya's the perfect solution. She's home all the time and I'm sure she can take care of Mikey."
    
      "You're so trusting all of a sudden." I managed a nervous laugh. "Should I be worried you're cooking something up?"
    
      Janet sniffed and mumbled something under her breath. I caught the tail end of it when I pounced her fleeing thoughts: 'Stupid Stanley.' 'Arrgh. I hate it when I call him out when he's doing something sensible.'
    
      "What was that?" I prodded her.
    
      "I said," Janet said pursing her pretty lips, "That you marrying the six of us could be the best thing to happen to me."
    
      Six? I wanted to hug her. Finally, Janet acknowledged Rachelle's existence, although I sensed she didn't like it. I held my breath and eagerly awaited her answer.
    
      "You look like you're about to have a heart attack Stanley." Janet eyed me sternly. "What's the matter? Don't you believe me?"
    
      "No, I believe you." I grinned stupidly as she picked up Mikey and swaddled him in a warm cloth blanket.
    
      "Don't get cocky with me," my First growled, "I'm just saying you set up a network of moms for me. I don't have to do it myself."
    
      She eyed me warily as I automatically checked the baby's tote and made sure everything Janet needed was in there: bottle, formula, wet wipes, powder, diapers ...
    
      "You planned this didn't you?" Janet said suddenly.
    
      "What?" I was so distracted, I just looked at her in complete surprise.
    
      "I said, 'You planned this'," Janet repeated and sighed. "Damn. I can't believe I'm a bloody Mormon wife."
    
      I skimmed her mind and relaxed. It was just my First being sarcastic and bitchy.
    
      "That's right." I gave her ass a good slap and winked. "I was twelve and knew I was going to marry a half-dozen brood-mares in ten odd years. Sire a school bus full of kids too."
    
      "God you're awful," Janet made a face. "I wasn't making a joke. I was serious. I can't believe Melanie sweet talked me TWICE into going along this shit."
    
      "So you think it's a conspiracy now?" I teased her, "You'd also better watch that mouth of yours. Gao-waixai di-jaei-lui*." [* Cantonese: You'll teach the children bad behavior.]
    
      "Don't be a wise-ass mister." Janet glanced at Mikey then at me. "How can I not be suspicious?"
    
      "You don't look the type," I wanted to laugh but her glare hinted to me that she was serious.
    
      "Melanie's always on your side," Janet went on, "And you're always so in-sync with Viktoriya, it's like you two plan everything ahead of time and act out a script."
    
      My First was wandering into dangerous waters, so I steered the conversation away as casually as I could.
    
      "Do you feel like a second-rate woman, honey?" I asked her.
    
      "Try fourth-rate," Janet replied angrily. "You've been fawning over Shawn Ellen a lot lately."
    
      "Hey now," I held my wife and son close, "I don't play favorites. If you want me to spend more time with you, I'll try. I just have plenty of ying-chou*." [* Cantonese: social/family obligation]
    
      "Ying-dou lei yeem-a*!" she snorted but rested her head against me in resignation. [* Cantonese: (no direct translation) Equivalent of 'Oblige your obligations until you're shit-tired of 'em'.]
    
      "Thanks for the support Ling-Ling," I said with sarcasm.
    
      "I hope Michael never inherits your charm," my First huffed, "I can't imagine what kinda crap that's going to put me through."
    
      "So you'll be a grandmother several times over," I winked and patted her ass again. "More diapers and burping for you."
    
      "You obnoxious dick." Janet bit my cheek playfully before we headed over to Viktoriya's place.
    
    ===============================================================================
      INTERLUDE -- REMEMBERANCES OF THINGS PAST
    ===============================================================================
    
      Janet was correct about me; well, to a certain degree: I was a dick. I was also sarcastic, selfish, sleazy, and a little insensitive when it came to certain things, but I knew where to draw the line. Not fucking my recently deceased best friend's wife would be one of those things I never did.
    
      Faraz's widow Ghandia was certainly vulnerable, but I didn't do a damn thing about it. As much fun as it would've been to capitalize on her vulnerability and bang the crap out of her, I felt I had already used up all of the leniency Janet had. I wasn't going to push it.
    
      Besides, she was Faraz's wife. After helping Ghandia move to a more affordable place in Brooklyn, she and I kept in touch through e-mail and traditional Christmas cards. She eventually remarried, but it took her a little while to get her life back together. 
    
      While I was in New York, I also dropped by Viktoriya's apartment, cleaned it out for the next tenant, and filed a change of address form. Having given birth to Milhail, Viktoriya was going to stay in San Francisco for a little while. Secretly, I was elated. Finally, we were going to be together.
    
      All that elation evaporated though, when I called on my Uncle William and Aunt Regina -- Aurora's parents -- in Newark to offer my belated condolences. I hadn't gone to the memorial service in Pennsylvania where her plane crashed, nor was I able to attend the services due to my hectic schedule and illness.
    
      My incomparable Lady Wu certainly did a swell job keeping my mother and others in the dark about where I was on September 11 and the few days afterwards. Before I left, Aunt Regina gave me a small shoebox with Aurora's things.
    
      "Are you sure you want me to have this?" I asked.
    
      "Yes, certainly," my aunt nodded and murmured sadly, "She had some things she only meant for you."
    
      "Oh." I accepted the box gingerly. "Well, I don't know what to say."
    
      "Just don't forget her," she said quietly. "She was quite fond of you."
    
      I bade my aunt and uncle goodbye and headed for the airport. With all the extra security measures in place, I was tempted to toss the box away.
    
      Ultimately, I was glad I didn't. When I arrived home, I checked Aurora's shoebox. It was filled with a few sealed letters addressed (but never mailed) to me at my old address, as well as a few photographs of me and her on the beach in Kowloon. One unmarked letter had only a single photograph in it but no letter.
    
      Curious, I inspected it more closely and found the photo was the one of her topless and staring serenely at the camera with her dark doe-eyes. Aurora's face appeared so calm and content, it was as if she knew right then and there what she wanted, and who she wanted to be with. Well, it wouldn't do to have the girls find THIS.
    
      I was about to shred it when I flipped the photo over. There was writing on the back (dated 2001 August 22):
    
      DEAREST BIEU-GUO:
    
      I FEEL SO DUMB WRITING THESE THINGS
      WHEN I COULD JUST E-MAIL YOU. BUT I
      CAN'T. I DON'T EVEN HAVE THE COURAGE
      TO MAIL THEM.
    
      I'M COMING TO VISIT YOU SOON. I'M
      DONE WITH SCHOOL AND I WANT TO SEE
      YOU. I'VE MISSED YOU SO MUCH!!
    
      I LOOKED INTO CONSANGUINITY LAWS AND
      I THINK WE HAVE A CHANCE. I DON'T CARE
      IF YOU'RE STILL SEEING HER, I'LL BE
      CONTENT IF YOU JUST SAY, "YES" AND
      LET ME STAY.
    
      IF I CAN'T BE YOUR WIFE, THEN I'LL
      BE YOUR MISTRESS.
    
      YOUR BIEU-MUI ALWAYS, AURORA KWONG
    
      Foolish girl. Of course, she only knew I was seeing "someone". Still, it was her love that touched me. That one torrid summer aside, I had no intention of regarding Aurora as anyone except my cousin.  Still, it wore on me when I realized Aurora didn't have a clue about me or my life. She died before she could plead her case.
    
      I heard a "tap-tap" sound, and blinked. Water had gotten onto the photo somehow. What? I realized then that I was crying. Her death was finally having an effect on me, or perhaps it was the psychic backlash Cristobel mentioned. I composed myself, wiped my eyes, and roused myself to action. After I washed my hands and face, I stared longingly at the box sitting on the table.
    
      It wouldn't do to have the girls find this. But I didn't want to throw it out. So, I made arrangements. I knew a girl at Carter Reprographics who specialized in making etchings onto metal. She made a copy of Aurora's classic beach bunny pose on a small metal tin.
    
      The tin was large enough to hold all of Aurora's memories of me. I layered the inside with charcoal, covered it with felt, then took the whole package to the San Francisco Colombarium.
    
      There, I bought a small cubby in a small shaded corner of the place, and arranged for it to be kept up for as long as I could afford it. Visitors who pass by now see a young skinny Chinese beauty in a string bikini etched on the lid of a metal box. A small white card with clean black lettering: 
    
      AURORA KWONG
      B: 1979 JULY 9
      D: 2001 SEPT 11
      IN MY MEMORY YOU LIVE
    
      Every year since, I left a white rose at her alcove. Aurora's shrine became an annual fixation for me. I never attended the big organized hate-rallies at (what was to be termed) "ground zero", the Pentagon, or even the field in Pennsylvania where my cousin's plane crashed.
    
      It wasn't her decision to die in an empty field in the middle of nowhere. A group of dumb fuck 'normals' had forced her fate on her, and I seethed over that feeling of powerlessness.
    
      So, I came to the Colombarium alone to grieve. From there on out, I would take no chances when it came to the safety of my family. I made up my mind that the world around the invisible empire would never impinge on it, or those under the protection of one of its citizens ever again.
    
      For those who dared, they would find themselves living on borrowed time.
    
    ===============================================================================
      MELANIE'S MOMMY MANIA
    ===============================================================================
    
      By the start of 2003, the girls more or less understood my apprehension about the up and coming wedding. Janet tried to relieve my tension by joking it was a "mass marriage" (like that episode of The Simpsons joining the Movementarian cult) but that hardly helped.
    
      She gave up after a few tries. My First had many wonderful traits, but her snarky humor wasn't always appropriate. I couldn't blame her because she was also under considerable stress as well. Janet had just bought her first home.
    
      With the salary she was pulling down (we earned nearly a quarter million in combined income at this point) she was itching to dump it into a mortgage so she'd have some equity instead of sending it to the tax collector.
    
      Curiously, Janet managed to buy the two-story house right next door to my building on 43rd. Her mortgage wasn't as much as mine, but it still stung. It was also a bit odd; Janet's ready to live-in house stood right next to my not-quite ready eco-condo. One day, as we were taking baby Mikey back in the stroller, the discrepancy in building heights caught her eye.
    
      She leaned into my ear and whispered, "Golly Stanley, it's like my house is kneeling down to give your house a blowjob."
    
      "Oh grow up." I shot her a mean glance.
    
      Janet giggled like a goofy girl and kissed me. It was just her weird sense of esoteric humor, and I loved her more for it. Of course, there were other problems besides new property. Way back at the start of 2000, Janet and I had confronted my parents about Melanie (with spectacularly bad results). They hadn't brought it up when my First and I legally hitched, but I sensed they were jittery as Melanie began officially hanging around me more and more.
    
      Yu-Ching had been working at the Pacific Coast Club as a part-time apprentice chef (mostly on Fridays and weekends) so she wouldn't be home Friday and Saturday nights (and Sunday afternoons). She hated it, but understood she needed to keep herself trained and employed.
    
      We had come to that decision years ago. While I could watch after Melanie now, I didn't want her to be clueless and dependent if something unpleasant happened to me. Still, it upset the schedule the two of us had set since we were children (grocery shopping on the weekends).
    
      "I'm going to open my OWN restaurant one day," Melanie came home late one Sunday evening.
    
      She threw her arms around me as soon as she got through the door of my unit. I was holding little Milhail in one hand while his older half-brother Mikey rolled happily on a yoga mat Jamie had given me. Having experience with Jillian, she had some great ideas (like putting the babies on a clean floor so they don't fall off beds and stuff).
    
      Janet was working on a new case (something to do with health insurance providers) and she needed her sleep. Apparently, so did Viktoriya. As tough as she thought she was, her new son had pretty much obliterated her with his constant demands.
    
      'Here. Take him.'
    
      Viktoriya pinged me with a curt message before she gladly passed me baby Milhail. She then wobbled downstairs to her own unit for some much needed rest and sleep. For the next few minutes, I congratulated my second son for doing in a few months what it took me years to do: rein in Viktoriya's wanderlust and get her to spend a quiet night at home.
    
      'Both of you are holy terrors.' I chuckled as the little infant continued to agitate and wail.
    
      'Shut ... up ... Stanislav.' Viktoriya picked up on my thoughts and managed to shoot off one last mental barb before she fell asleep.
    
      Now that Milhail was finally quiet, I didn't want to rouse him again so I spoke in hushed tones.
    
      "Oh really?" I whispered to Melanie, "You do that and you'll be out every night keeping ingredients ready for your patrons."
    
      Little Chen knitted her brow then wrinkled her nose at me. "You're such a spoil-sport."
    
      I chuckled, shook my head, and gently rocked Milhail while watching him sleep. Presently, Melanie's gaze fell on baby Mikey, who began stumbling towards her. She laughed and knelt to be at his level to greet him.
    
      "Lei gumman diem-a xiao didi*?" [* Cantonese: How are you tonight little boy?]
    
      Mikey babbled his baby-words happily as his soon-to-be stepmother picked him up. Actually, I hadn't even figured how that would work. When I poured over the materials I had on polygamous families, I found I only had the Mormon model to go on; "The Golden Lotus" and "Tales of Genji" dealt little with the modern family.
    
      Since I cared little for Western religion, I disregarded the Mormon model. I wanted us to find our own way. The term "sister-wife" was definitely creepy and didn't sit well with anyone at all.
    
      "Why don't you wash up," I said to Melanie, "Then you can play with Mikey until he tires or you do."
    
      "Bet he'll be asleep before I am!" She grinned as she handed Michael to me. Yu-Ching washed and rinsed her hands, then quickly took the tot off my hands. We both sat down on the sofa-bed in the living room and fawned over the two kids.
    
      My new place was slightly larger than my old room. It was arranged similarly to the other seven units: a full-sized kitchen, a full bathroom (toilet, sink, and shower in a tub) with a small laundry room next to it, a "living" room that doubled as the dining area (merged organically with the kitchen), and two small bedrooms with as many storage closets as I could practically add.
    
      Depending on the girl I asked, I got different opinions: Janet thought it was cozy but small; in that, Rachelle shared her opinion. That made sense since they were both accustomed to living in houses.
    
      Jamie thought it was an improvement and loved it. My leggy Asian beauty's only other concern was where to stuff the second kid we were planning on. I raised my brow at this since her unit was one of units with the fireman-stripper pole in the corner of the living room (Jamie loved doing her version of the pole-lympics).
    
      "Don't gimme that. It keeps this --" She smiled saucily and rubbed her ass against me, "-- nice and firm."
    
      Viktoriya was fine with it as well, then wondered aloud if she could install one as well (she eventually did settle on a different design that didn't run all the way to the ceiling). My Russian bride-to-be liked her room in San Francisco, and only complained about the overcast weather and relative quiet compared to the bustle of the Big Apple.
    
      Still, her unit was certainly larger than her place in Brooklyn. Viktoriya asked for full length mirrors, a rail, and a specially prepared floor for her to practice dancing as well as flexing and stretching.
    
      'I could give lessons here if you didn't mind kisa.' She thought-spoke the day after the workmen finished her place.
    
      'Careful there sweetie.' I cautioned her. 'Everyone's doors are locked but strangers can go down into the garage and do who knows what mischief.'
    
      'It's just a thought.' Viktoriya punctuated her displeasure by wrinkling her nose.
    
      'If you want to do that.' I thought to her in earnest. 'I'll just get you a studio in the city and you can do your teaching there.'
    
      'Get me a studio?' She knitted her brow and playfully pulled me towards her with telekinesis. 'So you're a millionaire now?'
    
      "It's just a thought." I grinned and hiding my thoughts, I kissed her and that was the end of that (for now). Only Melanie and Shawn had no opinions; my plump pumpkin had only seen what Gracia had done to her unit via pictures and second-hand accounts, but had yet to check the place out herself.
    
      Melanie was a strange little creature. Aside from making the fewest number of demands on me (aside from fatherhood), she had a wide range of interests and pursued everything with a sincere passion as only a precocious child would. She'd taken up cooking because she found it was something that we'd shared when we were younger.
    
      Seeing my fascination with Shawn's flute playing, Yu-Ching learned the pei-pa (Chinese lute) as well as the Chinese zither on the side while she attended City College and became quite good with both.
    
      Apart from Janet, Melanie was also the only one who could write calligraphy at a collegiate level. I always marveled at her skill with the brush. Little Chen's interest in the old and traditional might lead one to suspect she was a neo-Luddite or something, but that could not be more wrong.
    
      Melanie knew a lot more about computers and the Internet than most of us; only Jamie could equal her once she finished her degree a few years later. My little darling also constantly pushed boundaries; she was a Green Party member until they did something that irked her, then she promptly became a Libertarian.
    
      Yu-Ching even played videogames (something only Andrew was semi-interested in; both he and I pretty much stopped once we grew older). She bought an Xbox after Halo came out and invite some of classmates (and friends of friends) to her place for LAN'ed matches. Luckily, Shawn, Rachelle and Jamie had nothing to complain about: I knew the sound proofing I installed was worth it.
    
      My electric bill though ... that was another story. It nearly matched my water bill. I never knew the utility company started billing me at business rates once my kilowatt hours went over a certain limit. Even with the environmentally friendly LED lights, appliances, and Shawn's solar wall, Melanie's Halo parties racked up monthly electrical bills that ran in the triple digits. That was Yu-Ching just being herself and I loved her for it.
    
      "What's daddy smiling about?"
    
      I blinked and glanced at Melanie, who was holding Mikey up and pointing him at me. I was so lost in thought again, I wasn't paying attention to reality.
    
      "C'mon Mikey." Melanie bounced him gently. "Say ba-ba. Baa-baa."
    
      My first born son merely grinned and drooled on her hand. Michael wasn't retarded, but he was a quiet kid. Melanie giggled and kissed him on his chubby cheeks. Seeing her so content and in-tune with an infant in her arms spooked me. Chen Yu-Ching was herself a child when I first met her so many years ago.
    
      Was it so long ago? I did a quick mental calculation and the results gave me pause. It was early 2003 now. Wow. Going on twelve years. And Janet? Going on sixteen years. That was longer than some marriages.
    
      "Yoo-hoo, Stanley?" Melanie waggled my son in front of me like a maracas. "I think Mikey needs a change."
    
      "Don't you know how to do that?" I jutted my chin at the stack of disposable diapers on the table.
    
      "Fine," she sighed and got up.
    
      Diapers and babies were always a fun topic. While it would've seemed more eco-friendly to use cloth diapers, the amount of energy and water used to clean them to be re-used canceled out the benefits. Another thing about cloth diapers was that they were lousy containing waste as they had no elastic band around the tot's thighs. But even disposable diapers needed to be applied properly, or you'd have a "shitty" disaster in the making.
    
      That's precisely what happened to my dusky Russkie that one time: Viktoriya had offered to take care of Michael and Milhail while Janet was at work. Still new to motherhood, she had wrapped Michael so loosely that the toddler began dropping little brown nuggets all over her condo.
    
      I was wondering why there were M&M's all over the place until I bent down to get a closer look. Luckily, baby Mikey was content to play in front of the full-length mirrors in the living room (and the floor was hardwood) so clean up was quick. Perhaps more fortunately, none of us owned pets; it would've made the mess even messier.
    
      I watched Melanie as she took out Mikey's old diaper and cleaned his bottom. I admired her slender fingers as she skillfully threaded a new diaper around the toddler.
    
      "There," Melanie tapped the tape on his diaper, "Feel better now?"
    
      Mikey waved his stubby little arms and legs and tried to sit up. Yu-Ching laughed and kissed his exposed belly. We carried the two kids into their cribs and placed them face up. Milhail, being only a few months old, was now quiet and sleeping. He was in a small sleeping suit that Mikey had used just a year ago.
    
      I checked the cribs for loose objects, strings, cords, or small bits of something they'd try to eat (kids put crap in their mouths like a drug addict would with pills). I arranged the hush-puppies around the base of Mikey's crib (but not with Milhail because he wasn't yet strong enough to push anything away from his mouth and nose) and settled down for the night.
    
      Despite having her own unit upstairs, Melanie would drop by my place to visit like if I was still living in my old room. I found she had beaten me to the shower. Her petite form was more or less "set" now. At 21, Yu-Ching would grow maybe an inch or so more to her current height of 5'-2/3" (approximately 157 cm).
    
      Of my six lovely treasures, she was the shortest, followed by Shawn and Janet (both 5'-5/6" or about 166 cm). Next came Viktoriya and Jamie (about the same height at 5'-6/7" or 168 cm). Rachelle was the tallest (she was as tall as me, and I was 5'-8/9").
    
      Seeing Melanie in her naked glory awoke some old memories for me. She reminded me of my late cousin. I had watched Aurora shower in Shek-Kou years ago. When the storm let up, our bodies were sticky with sweat and grimy from our sexual adventures.
    
      Aurora had hopped into the shower with me. Her long black hair hung down below her waist as we washed and explored the limits of our young bodies. Seeing Melanie's long dark locks now, I was filled with a pang of remorse. Would it have been better had I not slept with Aurora?
    
      "Lei-mong meh-yeh-a*?" Yu-Ching gazed at me. [* Cantonese: What the heck are you staring at? (in this context)]
    
      We had both removed our clothing and were ready for a bath.
    
      "You know this is why you have your own place right?" I chided her and began filling the tub.
    
      "But this is more fun." Melanie had wrapped her long lustrous hair into a bun, and snapped a large shower cap over it.
    
      I immersed myself in the tub, to be quickly followed by Melanie. Her sack of hair whapped my face a few times when she turned her head.
    
      "I'm sorry," she was apologetic. "Maybe I should cut this short. It's starting become a hassle."
    
      "Well not too short," I brushed my fingertips against her lithe young body. "I like it."
    
      "You do?" She was kneeling between my legs, working up a lather with a bar of soap.
    
      "You bet baby girl." I leaned close and kissed a spot not yet covered in bubbles or foam. Melanie giggled as she turned around so I could wash her back. I ran my fingers down her sides, feeling her breasts, and rubbing her shoulders and sides.
    
      "Oh Stanley," she sighed, "Don't tease me like that. It's really late!"
    
      "So?" I rinsed off her smooth flawless back with a wet sponge and kissed the base of her neck. Melanie shivered and leaned back into my arms.
    
      "You're so naughty," she scolded me as she scratched my arm gently, "Seducing me when I was so young."
    
      "I'm just a dirty old man." I pinched her tender nipples softly. My little darling gasped and kissed the bottom of my cheek as I rinsed off the rest of her body. She wriggled free and turned me around.
    
      "Deng-wo xie ley-a*," she said. [* Cantonese: Lemme wash you.]
    
      I groaned as I felt her soft hands on my back and sides. Melanie lathered then washed me off. As I felt her press her small breasts against my back, she reached around and grabbed my stiff cock.
    
      "Ha-hah!" Melanie managed a dry chuckle. "Now I got you just like Janet jie-jie."
    
      I chuckled too. Years before, I had told Yu-Ching how Janet had jumped me in such a fashion. It was so long time ago, it was mildly surprising that she suddenly sprung it on me again. Neither of us said anything but Melanie's thumb began pressing down on the head of my penis, eliciting a delighted gasp from me.
    
      She bit my sides gently as she began massaging my cock and nipples. Having made love so many, many times, Melanie was as seasoned as any one of us. She was a little more perverted when things got crazy.
    
      "I wanna see it," she whispered. "Cum in the bath water Stanley."
    
      "Hell no," I took her hands gently and turned around. "I got a better idea."
    
      Melanie complained only with a squeal as I hauled her out of the water. I grabbed two large towels and took us to the bedroom. Once there, we toweled ourselves dry.
    
      "Lei xiang deem-a*?" she asked coyly. [* Cantonese: What are you going to do?]
    
      "What do you think?" I tickled her twat and kissed her.
    
      "O--wow--o--god--o--fuck!!"
    
      Melanie gripped my erect dong as I held her legs apart. She hissed with pleasure as she guided me slowly into her warm, waiting cunt. My petite darling was a little dry, but that soon proved to be moot as I formed a gentle little force of telekinesis and "rolled" her Grafenberg spot.
    
      Melanie cried softly as her pussy grew moist and loosened up. Her tight college girl cunt sucked my cock in with a wet sucking sound. She stared at me with wide knowing eyes. I was fucking her raw. No saran wrap. No condoms. No pills. No planning. My little darling quickly realized what that could mean.
    
      "Oh yes," she whispered with joy, "Do it! Do it! Do it! Do it!"
    
      I surrendered to her wicked wiles and wrecked that tiny tight ass of hers. She kissed my cheeks and tips of my ears as I buried myself into her eager little body.
    
      "Yea--fuck--yea-fuck," Melanie was panting endlessly in my ear.
    
      She took a cue from Viktoriya and raked my back with her stubby nails. I wasn't expecting it, but the sudden pain didn't distract me; it only made me hornier. Melanie emitted a muffled squeal as I redoubled my efforts. I pounded her so roughly, the bed began to shake. Her baby chute contracted and quivered as she came in a heated rush.
    
      "MWUAHH!!" she cried out softly. Melanie's whole body tightened and tensed as she orgasmed; her empathy pulled me along easily. I dumped the contents from my balls right into her without complaint.
    
      "Ohh! Oh!! Ooogh!!" She shook with pleasure as I ground my hips against hers. "That felt so good Stanley. So good! I love you!!"
    
      "Hah." I kissed her neck content, "That's going to be a problem if you wind up scoring."
    
      "Why?" Melanie asked wide-eyed, "I've been ready for like, forever!"
    
      "Sweetie, you're only 21," I said as I patted her thigh gently, "You're still not settled into that job of yours yet."
    
      "Don't worry," she murmured and stroked my neck, "I'm fine with being a housewife."
    
      "Now don't be like that." I propped myself up to avoid crushing her. "You'll make a great chef."
    
      "Stanley Wei-Keurng Chen," Melanie dared call me by my full name, "Xi-doy ngm-tong-le*. I can do a lot of things online and have children. Don't be such a lao-bing*." [* Cantonese: Times have changed, and 'Old coot'.]
    
      "Ni-hen quai-ani*," I pinched her cheeks and she laughed. [* Mandarin: You're so naughty.]
    
      "Lei gei-xsi hauk t'suo quok-yu-a*?" Melanie poked me in the stomach. [* Cantonese: When'd you learn to speak Mandarin?]
    
      "It's a secret." I managed a smile.
    
      Actually, I hadn't done much at all. If an observant Cantonese speaker heard enough Mandarin, he or she could pick it up easily. And Aurora, sweet innocent Aurora, was half-Mandarin thanks to Aunt Regina (she was a buk-fong yun, or a Northerner). Slamming little Melanie now was like boning my late cousin, only Yu-Ching was so much more sweeter.
    
      Melanie was soon snoozing nude under the covers. I got up, dressed, and headed back outside to the living room where the kids were. I crashed on the sofa-bed once I had closed the door to the bedroom. It didn't last long though. First one, then the other tot roused me with their agitated crying. I felt pretty dead the next day. Ah, the joys of family.
    
    ===============================================================================
      MARRIAGE AND DISHARMONY
    ===============================================================================
    
      Thankfully, Melanie didn't get pregnant. It was a peculiar situation for her. It meant she was still ready for the wedding, but it also meant she went into overdrive trying to fuck my brains out during the whole time. I played at being asleep or just plain busy when Yu-Ching made passes at me. I suppose Melanie's resemblance to Aurora was just dead-on from a few angles, and being in Hong Kong wasn't helping.
    
      As for why were we there in Hong Kong? For the wedding of course. I had forgotten that some of my grandparents were still alive in the former British colony (at least on my mother's side). Since they wanted to see me get married, I obliged them ... with six different weddings.
    
      And because we couldn't help but arouse suspicion if the ceremony was held in the United States, we all agreed on a (what we thought) clever way of doing things: we'd resort to a traditional Chinese wedding feast. But to put on the show six times was excessive! We had to do it once for each girl while the other five would sit in as "maids of honor" (all whom I've no doubt dishonored) or on the side-lines as mystery guests.
    
      As for the presence of the children, we had to simply make do. Michael was nearly a year and a half old. He ran around and threw tantrums (he was still teething) but Janet and I kept him on a short leash. Milhail celebrated his first birthday just before leaving the country.
    
      Unsurprisingly, Viktoriya was more anxious than I about the trip; we didn't want to leave little Milhail, but the risk of SARS (chicken flu) loomed over us the whole time. We kept our noses and our rooms clean. My Russian bride splurged for freshly steam-cleaned towels, and the hotel staff was happy to oblige.
    
      Jillian was the one who was most excited (apart from me). Eight years old, curious, and having lived a sheltered life in Las Vegas (Jamie never showed her the glitzy parts), my step-daughter put as much of a demand on my time as any of the brides. Malls weren't her thing, so I scheduled a few half-days at Ocean Park between festivities. Janet and Viktoriya didn't mind either as Mikey and Milhail appeared to have thoroughly enjoyed themselves.
    
      Of course, that was just the logistics with the girls and the kids. Things were trickier with the in-laws. Aside from getting my side of the family to go along with it, we were also flying each of the girls' families out (their friends came at their own expense). We then had to trick them into thinking it's just that girl I was wedding that day.
    
      When my grandparents learned about my plans, they expressed rude shock such a practice was still legal today (it wasn't under the new laws of Hong Kong SAR). Still, they were supportive and gave me the final bits of advice and methods I needed to make everything come together. I am extremely grateful for their wisdom. But despite having almost all our bases covered, Andrew was still had his doubts about the whole affair.
    
      "You still think you can pull this off?" he asked me.
    
      "Little too late for that now isn't it?" I gave him a sideways glance. "You're MC-ing the final act in about a minute. Don't fuck it up."
    
      "Yeah that's great." Andrew stretched a bit. "I'm beat."
    
      "Me too. I'm damn glad this is the last one," I said, "Shawn's about ready to faint. I can't believe she drew the longest straw."
    
      "She's a funny one. I can see why Yu-Ching likes her so much," my brother added a chuckle, "Mom and dad are still talking smack though. They can't believe you're doing this."
    
      "Wanna trade?" I asked in a jest, "You deal with that six-pack of harpies, and I'll deal with mom and dad."
    
      "Hope they don't hear you say that," my little brother said and threw me a grin, "Sachiko is already a handful when I even glance at other girls, not that you'd made it easy all these years, a-guo*." [* Cantonese: Big brother; colloquially, it could literally mean "bro" or "brah" in American slang but here it is used with affection and genuine familial respect.]
    
      I nodded glumly but grinned inwardly. Sachiko Kosugi was Gracia's little sister (born 1983, just a half-year younger than Andrew and Melanie). She had shown up when Gracia was consulting with me about the building's interiors (or whatever the hell we were working on at the time) and Andrew went a-ga-ga over the pretty petite Japanese girl with the ever-so soft voice but spunky attitude.
    
      I knew I shouldn't have intervened, but I felt sorry for my little brother. He wasn't particularly ugly; in fact, he turned out to be taller and more rugged than I was. However, he was shy. I was partly to blame: my constant womanizing had belittled and overawed him when he was younger.
    
      When he'd work up enough nerve to ask a girl out, they'd might go out on a pity date with him, but he was clearly too shy to ignite any long-term interest in women.
    
      So, in what spare little time I had, I did my best to steer Sachiko into his lap. After a brief mind-scan, I saw the two had something in common: both were studying psychology and human behavior. Well okay, Andrew was studying psychology and Sachiko was into bettering human behavior through bio-chemical psychiatry.
    
      Both were anime-crazy (Sachiko was a cosplayer), so all it took was a little serendipity and help from big brother. I mentally nudged Gracia into a quick double-date (for us, it was business; I didn't touch Gracia at all) and our two siblings hit it off a few weeks later.
    
      But back to my wedding -- er, wedding farce.
    
      All six of the girls knew we couldn't commit a darn thing to paper, so we had to settle for something earnestly traditional. It was a tradition to orally pledge one's loyalty to the groom's and bride's parents by kneeling and ceremoniously offering a sacred cup of tea.
    
      For the groom, there were two oaths he made: to his bride's parents, he would promise to take in their daughter and to care for her and the children she'd bear him (equivalent to death 'til us part); to the groom's own parents, he'd swear that he would uphold and honor the family name (Cantonese culture is patriarchal), to conduct no disreputable business in its name, and to teach and raise the children from the union to adulthood.
    
      For the bride, she made equivalent oaths: to the bride's parents, she promised to honor their family by doing nothing dishonorable in her husband's name or household; she'd share in the hardships of her husband and in return he'd share what joy he would earn; she would also swear filial piety to the husband's parents, for (in the traditional method) they were now HER parents (oiy-gaa-lui).
    
      By now, I had recited my oaths five times before over the course of ten days. There was no question Janet would be first (the other five had drawn straws to see who went next). Shawn flew out to Hong Kong from Tokyo, having gotten a week's reprieve for the occasion. In addition to the in-laws, there were also some very close friends and family.
    
      Only the closest confidants were let into all six ceremonies though. Ami was one who knew what was going on. She even gave me good advice: don't neglect any of 'em or take them for granted. Indeed I wouldn't, for I was a happy man six times over.
    
      Cristobel was present only for Viktoriya's ceremony but he pretty much got the gist of it. I was sure he wouldn't rat us out; besides, that man had secrets of his own and understood our need for privacy. Cristobel spent much of the time during Viktoriya's day in silent conversation with both of us.
    
      'Does that mean you're not coming back to New York, Vika?' The handsome young man was outwardly cheerful, but he was inwardly apprehensive about Viktoriya's plans.
    
      'Stanislav and I discussed it.' Viktoriya thought-spoke as she greeted the guests as that day's bride. 'I'll be there just part of the time when Milhail is older. It'll work out my friend.'
    
      'Who will I dance with when you're gone?' I heard Cristobel lament.
    
      'Why don't you try that blonde Vika tasted in Rome?' I suggested on our private little discussion. Viktoriya and Cristobel both scoffed at my ignorance.
    
      'Freya is a rhythmic gymnast.' Viktoriya explained. 'Different from what we do.'
    
      She shot me a brief memory of that lithe lovely blonde contorting her body into vulgar positions to keep a plastic ball adhered to her body. Interesting; I realized now why my Slavic beauty was so interested in bending Jamie into a pretzel that time they fucked.
    
      'STANISLAV!!' I sensed her embarrassment as I broadcast the thought to every sensitive citizen in the room. Cristobel covered his mouth timidly to hide his laughter as Viktoriya shot a glare back at him then at me.
    
      'Sorry about that.' I pinged.
    
      'Like Janna would say: You better watch it mister!' Viktoriya smiled like a panther and began sashaying towards my parents with Milhail in one arm.
    
      I grinned nervously despite what I'd done about two months before. My parents had barely let the shock of my words settle in about what I intended to do with my girls -- all six of them -- before I introduced Milhail by having Viktoriya carry him in.
    
      "Mother Chen. I am Viktoriya. I present your second grandson, Milhail," she said simply and plopped our son into my mother's shaking arms.
    
      As if to compound the problem, Jamie and Jillian came in, followed by Rachelle (Janet and Melanie were sitting by me, ready to leap to my defence). My parents recognized Rachelle but didn't know who Jamie was. After some curt explanation, there was a period of awkward silence. My little brother Andrew coughed nervously and apologized to Janet and Rachelle for the crap I'd put them through.
    
      "That's my brother," he tried his best to break the silence, "He's a dick."
    
      "Hey." I punched his arm rather unkindly. "Watch your goddamn mouth."
    
      "Hey hush!" That was Janet. "You watch yours, mister!"
    
      Luckily, my mother didn't faint like she did last time, but my dad finally had enough that _he_ had to lie down.
    
      "Holy shit dude," Andrew joked with me later in private, "You pretty much wowed dad with that one."
    
      All in all, everything went off without much of a hitch (at least on the surface): the six beauties wore a slightly different colored cheong-pao on different days. The bride for that day wore red. The others would have to wear a different color.
    
      While the other girls were fine with two or three sets (red and sunflower gold, although Jamie and Rachelle opted for blue and green as well), Viktoriya grinned mischievously and snapped up six different colors ranging from coal black to royal purple. Thankfully, all my darlings were informed ahead of time not to choose white (color of mourning).
    
      After Shawn and I ended our six day wedding marathon, she changed back into her gold cheong-pao (as did Viktoriya). We wanted one picture of all of us as equals. None of the waiters or serving girls thought anything was amiss.
    
      As we sat, I faintly recalled the dream I had once a long time ago. Back then, only five of the six were there, but I'd grown fond of Jamie and Jillian I'd thought nothing of including them into the gang.
    
      'Oh Stanislav? Dor-o-goi?' Viktoriya pricked my mind awake. 'Just a little longer my love, and you'll die tonight a happy man.'
    
      'I don't aim to do that just yet.' I thought-spoke. 'Wait. What'd you mean by that?'
    
      'There are SIX of us now kisa.' Viktoriya's thoughts were running amok at the possibilities. 'What do you think we're going to do?'
    
      I felt a shiver go through me as she smiled saucily and leaned innocently against Jamie. I saw the other woman jerk in surprise before she passed a timid glance my way. From the way I grinned, the Asian hottie quickly blushed a deep crimson.
    
      'Not all at the same time that's for sure.' I pinged her with sincerity and took my place in the middle of the front row.
    
      'Why not?!' Viktoriya sharpened both her gaze and her thoughts towards me.
    
      'For one thing, I'm not twenty anymore.' I grew thoughtful. 'I can't do it that many times in one night.'
    
      'Oh, just you wait.' Viktoriya tickled my mind with old memories. 'We'll team up and put you under yet!'
    
      'You wouldn't dare.' I almost growled aloud.
    
      'Fine then.' She seemed resigned. 'I suppose I'll have to settle with one of the others tonight.'
    
      'Don't do anything crazy now.' I reminded her.
    
      'Of course not! How dare you compare me to you, you vile beast!' Viktoriya's thoughts wavered between the silly and the serious. 'Ravishing poor Melanie while our son was asleep next door. You animal! I should castrate you.'
    
      'As if you weren't guilty when you jumped me and Jamie that time.' I stirred her memory of the menage-a-trois between me, her, and Jamie.
    
      "Yuu-bei! Yut-yee-sam*!" CLICK. We continued our chatter despite the cameras. [* Cantonese: Ready. One-two-three.]
    
      'You can't wholly blame me!' Viktoriya smiled broadly. 'I never saw you so frisky before or since. Admit it Stanislav, you ENJOY watching me while you plow us, you vile old pervert.'
    
      A flurry of flashbulbs gave me a good case of floaters and after-images. I excused myself from the room and headed for the restroom. As I brushed by Viktoriya, I shifted my focus on her sweet ass and telekinetically pinched her bottom.
    
      'You shameless animal!' She pinged mischievously. 'You dare call yourself Milhail's father?!'
    
      Viktoriya got up and followed me to the bathroom where she jumped me in the stall. We were lucky that no one saw us. I held her up while I was standing in front of the toilet, taking what was probably the longest silent whizz in the establishment's history. Great wedding, eh?
    
      So, it was with shock and surprise that I was served papers to appear in court about a year later in mid-2004. Shawn had finished with her studies in Tokyo and she had moved into her now-finished condo. I had just finished putting away the last of her moving boxes when the mail came.
    
      "What the hell is this?!" I nearly lost my mind when I read the papers. The Hortens had filed suit and accused me of being a bigamist.
    
    ===============================================================================
      FAMILY FEUD
    ===============================================================================
    
      Janet and I had been careful. The only marriage license that existed was the one she and I got back in 2001. So how exactly did Shawn's parents nab me? George and Laura used the very invitations we had foolishly sent out as kindling for the fire.
    
      They had contacted the Hollisters and then the Lychenkos (the latter did thought it bizarre a second ceremony was held a year after Milhail's birth). Thankfully, the Youngs proved impossible to contact because of Jamie's name change.
    
      All that, and an accusation that a "suspicious ceremony" was held outside the United States. Of course, it was all bunk. I suppose we could simply deny any of the ceremonies having took place, but that would be perjury. Janet was worried sick as three year-old Mikey toddled between his five other step-mothers.
    
      Established precedent in bigamy cases allowed the state to take the family's children away from the parents. That was what everyone was concerned about now: the children. I pointed out this was an impossibility.
    
      In the case where the father committed statutory rape by wedding (then bedding) teenage brides, the children were often taken into state custody. Well, despite the borderline crap I did when I was younger with Melanie and Shawn (and Janet to me), I had "wedded" women, not young girls.
    
      "That's bull and you know it." I glanced briefly at Jamie before turning back to my First. "They can't do that can they?"
    
      "I don't know." Janet was showing again. We had gone at it soon after the wedding and she got knocked up a second time.
    
      "Maybe we were asking for it." I wanted to punch myself for being so obvious. The invitations were a paper trail, but they were also part of the cover.
    
      "C'mon sugar," Rachelle chimed in, her words echoing my thoughts, "It's crazy anyway. Who saves wedding invitations?"
    
      "A father would for an only child." Viktoriya whispered quickly as she watched Milhail try to stand on his own.
    
      My black beauty looked towards Shawn and her gaze softened. "Oh, honey. I'm sorry if I sounded mean."
    
      "That's okay." My plump dumpling had said little since the news broke.
    
      The seven of us were in Shawn's art-modern unit. The furniture was slick, jet smooth and black, and very stylish; exactly as they appeared in that issue of Architectural Digest. The only people there were me, the girls, and the tots. Jillian was at my parents' place. They had finally come to accept her as their own granddaughter.
    
      The only children with us -- Michael and Milhail -- didn't understand a word that was said, which was all the better. They would've been scared shitless that their mothers were now considered criminals, and they could be forcibly taken away to foster homes.
    
      "What now?" Jamie wrung her hands. "Is there an out? I don't want to lose the children Stanley!"
    
      I could see the Asian beauty was a nervous wreck. Jamie was about as advanced in her pregnancy as Janet. I had nailed the two of them within the span of a week. Apparently, I was a busy lad during our honeymoon in Oahu.
    
      "Not so fast, let's not get ahead of ourselves." Janet kept calm despite our predicament. "They might have something worse; so far the invitations can be taken as fakes or a fabrication."
    
      "But they have our names on them," Jamie said flatly, "And dates too."
    
      "Don't forget there were lots of photos," Melanie said glumly, "They're going to use that against us aren't they?"
    
      "Only if they subpoena them," Janet explained. I could see her mind working out the details. "And that'll probably happen only in a criminal case, and no one's seen them right?"
    
      "They're on SD cards." Melanie looked between her and me. "I hadn't printed them yet."
    
      "Well," I said as I knitted my brow, "I'll get some new cards and hide the old ones."
    
      "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," Janet put her hands briefly over her ears for emphasis. She went to say, "All I know is that for a civil suit, they'd have to dig through a lot of trash with private detectives, and not count on the police for a search."
    
      "Oh God." Jamie buried her face in her hands. "This is crazy. We shouldn't have --!!"
    
      "Have confidence, zaichik*," [* Russian: Bunny rabbit. Another pet name, chiefly for lovers] Viktoriya interjected, "Stanislav and Janna will think of something."
    
      "You sound confident." Rachelle passed her glance over Janet as she looked at Viktoriya and me. "How can you be sure?"
    
      "I trust them," Viktoriya said simply. I hazarded a guess that my Cossack cutie was sure I'd try my persuasion.
    
      'Why of course!' My dusky Russkie thought-spoke an affirmative. 'Now would be a good time as any. But where do we start Stanislav?'
    
      My jaw tightened. I suppose we could do this our way. I began parsing the details and organizing it in my mind as the others talked.
    
      "Well we don't have to worry yet." Janet was thoughtful. "I don't think it'll hold up in criminal court unless there's another marriage license somewhere. An invitation isn't a legal document anyway."
    
      Viktoriya and I conferred quickly and made sure our tracks were covered. The sham marriage in Indiana had been done with a "persuaded" magistrate and a fake license. I paid the clerk in cash but he never filed the license. My dusky Russkie snatched it from the file using telekinesis while I blurred the clerk's mind so he forgot to file the thing in his computer.
    
      Well, that was one less thing to worry about. Viktoriya gave me a reassuring smile. I relaxed as my dependable Lady Wu continued talking.
    
      "Look, I know it's hard for everyone," Janet said quietly, "But I'm going to have to ask that you bite the bullet on this one, and disown Stanley for the record."
    
      The others fidgeted nervously. Rachelle deliberately averted her gaze to avoid looking at Janet.
    
      "If you're asked if you're married," my First knitted her brow, "You'll each going to have to say, 'No'."
    
      "And the kids?"
    
      "A blood test will only be asked for paternity." Janet looked glum, "But I guess it can be argued that paternity isn't evidence of bigamy. Just bastardship."
    
      "What about you?" Rachelle asked suddenly.
    
      "What about me?" Janet kept her cool. "Legally, I'm his wife. I know it sucks, but it was something our parents pushed us into."
    
      "I suppose divorce is out of the question?" Viktoriya interjected with a different question to keep the two feuding women from each other's throats.
    
      "It won't matter." Janet shook her head, "If the invitations are going to be the cornerstone of their argument, they were date-stamped, as was our marriage license. It'll just alert them we're trying to hide something, which could be just as bad."
    
      'Stanislav.' My Baltic beauty eyed me on the sly. 'We can take care of that like we did in Indiana ...'
    
      'I suppose we can.' I was running through the different scenarios. Each had different difficulties involved, and about a hundred things that could go wrong ...
    
      "What? No, don't think of it like that!" Melanie exclaimed, "Stanley and Janet jie-jie can't get divorced!! The taxes they pay if they're single will bankrupt them."
    
      "Taxes are going to be the least of our worries," I said to her, "There's jail time for convicted bigamists it seems."
    
      "Shawn Ellen, can't you do something?!" Melanie looked accusingly at my buxom angel, "Talk to your dad!"
    
      "I never told anyone this, but my dad hates Stanley's guts." Shawn looked sick as she responded, "He never liked him even as a boyfriend."
    
      "Lucky for me I'm not into him eh?" I grinned and tried to add some humor, but the joke quickly wilted.
    
      "Now isn't the time." Janet put a hand on my shoulder. I took her hand and gave it a squeeze. "Look, the case is going to pre-trial soon. I'll find us a good lawyer and we'll do our best to keep Stanley and the rest of us out of trouble."
    
      "But we got to --!!" I sensed Melanie's growing vehemence and it was being directed at the wrong person. I decided to stop it before it got worse.
    
      "Stop it, Yu-Ching," I said gently, "This isn't Shawn's fault and pointing fingers won't help. We need to be cool about it."
    
      "He's right." Janet patted my little darling's hand. "I'll ask around. Don't you worry. We'll fight this thing."
    
      Melanie nodded slowly, as did the others. Thank God for the little things though. Viktoriya and I made some headway on our own. Just a few days before the pre-trial, the Lychenkos opted out of the suit.
    
      My Cossack darling demonstrated her guile by berating her parents. She threatened to pull Milhail away from them forever if they didn't "... drop this nonsense against the father of her child!"
    
      The Lychenkos didn't know me well enough that I'd do more than that if they continued to make legal threats against me, Viktoriya, and Milhail. They agreed and we retired to the guest room for the night. As soon as we were alone, my Russian lover clutched me tightly.
    
      'My god Stanislav.' Her whole body was trembling. 'I was never so scared in my life!'
    
      'You were wonderful milenky.' I hugged her tenderly. 'I am glad I married you, if only by a spoken oath.'
    
      The three of us flew back to San Francisco after a short weekend with Milhail's grandparents. As lucky as we were with the Lychenkos, the Hollisters proved a bit more difficult. I went with Rachelle to talk her family down from the suit and things got a little rough.
    
      My black beauty's answers weren't clever enough to thwart all their suspicion. One of Rachelle's sisters (Tanya or whoever the other one was) accused me of breaking up Craig and Rachelle.
    
      "That's true." I nodded and asked her plainly, "Do you know why?"
    
      "Because you're a selfish little man?" she snapped.
    
      "Maybe." I cleared my throat and hardened my tone, "But if you stop being a whiny bitch for just a minute, you may have noticed Rachelle's skin doesn't have all those splotchy bruises from the beatings Craig used to give her."
    
      There was a collective gasp as I leveled a stern gaze at the obnoxious young woman.
    
      "I think that might've been a bigger issue than this nonsense," I snapped. Rachelle looked at me with mounting disapproval.
    
      "Stanley! Please stop!" my black beauty hissed as her sister turned stormed out of the room. Needless to say, the Hollisters showed me the door. They begged Rachelle to stay but she shook her head.
    
      "No, I need some space." She waved them off. "I can't stand this!"
    
      We left quickly, but Rachelle was clearly exasperated.
    
      "I thought you were a smooth talker." She passed me a dark scowl. "Now you just pissed off my whole family! How could you talk to my sister that way?"
    
      "How could they not know what you were going through with Craig?" I asked her gently. "Didn't you tell them?"
    
      "They don't know," Rachelle sighed, "because I didn't."
    
      "I'm sorry." I patted her knee. "I'll apologize later, but things are really ornery right now."
    
      "You don't say, Stanley!!" she groaned, "I'll never hear the end of this!"
    
      So damn Shawn's father. His single-minded determination to "rescue" his daughter made him dangerously obsessed. He got it in his mind that I had "kidnapped" his daughter Shawn to live in a (what he termed) "polygamist compound" right there in cosmopolitan San Francisco.
    
      George Horten not only began looking into my personal life, he was digging into my professional one as well. He had called up my boss at Ditomer Design, told him I was being sued for bigamy, and got me fired for "not representing the clientele Ditomer wished to cater to".
    
      The schism Mormons (the ones who practiced polygamy) were apparently getting one bad reputation in building circles. Of course, I didn't need to hear the call George Horten made to my boss to know it was his doing; I knew it as soon as I scanned the older man's mind.
    
      So that's where he had his weight, I thought. The was the same "friend" Horten had hinted about when he wanted me to stop dating Shawn.
    
      The friend was one of the senior fellows at Ditomer Design and my over-boss. Using my earlier absence (due to my illness) as an excuse, I was "let go" for being an unsatisfactory employee producing "work not designated". That was fine by me. I didn't subscribe to the faggot-ass empty design theories being pitched all the time at Ditomer.
    
      From my time at Ferguson, I was grounded in reality and in how systems were built. In my mind, form had to follow function, otherwise, one was just drawing meaningless lines on vellum. Being daring and artistic were fine if our firms were designing contemporary sculptures for corporate headquarters, but architectural firms designed buildings that had to withstand daily use by real people. Ditomer was a firm formed of people who were so far removed from reality, I was happy to have nothing to do with them.
    
      In the meantime, Janet found us some lawyers through her co-workers and friends. The lawyers we got were a team: one specialized in marriage and estate law, the other in custody and family law. Both were good, sensible and thorough. Though our story was pretty flimsy, our legal duo realized immediately that the state had a similarly flimsy case.
    
      "It's the civil suit you should be worried about," the man named Eric Stanton explained. "Those things can get out of control."
    
      "I agree," his partner, a hawkish woman by the name of Emily Rogers nodded.
    
      "Never mind the civil suit for now." I kneaded my own temples wearily, "Can anything happen to our kids?"
    
      "I think not, am I right?" Janet squeezed my hand. "The state has to be involved and you said there wouldn't be a criminal case?"
    
      "You're partly right." Stanton explained, "Some states have filed civil suits before, but unless they can prove you've endangered them, CPS (Child Protective Services) won't have authorization to do a darn thing."
    
      "Besides," the Rogers woman added quickly, "We can make the argument for single parent custody."
    
      "I see." Janet managed a smile. "Thank you for putting our minds at ease. My boss, Teddy, said you guys were good."
    
      Stanton and Rogers both grinned back kindly.
    
      "That's a relief." I looked at them, "But is there anything we can do in the meantime?"
    
      Stanton nodded. "Yes Mr. Chen. Stay put, stay silent, and let us do the talking."
    
      "Thank you then." I stood and shook their hands. Despite their professional advice, I intended to do no such thing. I had my own way of doing things: the empire's way.
    
      The case went before a judge (no jury) for a pre-trial hearing. The argument by the plaintiffs (only the Hortens were there -- the Hollisters were absent) was that while officially married to Janet, I had conceived another child with Viktoriya. Now, I had absconded with their daughter Shawn, and "god knows who else".
    
      The evidence was flimsy until their lawyer showed some snapshots from our wedding ceremony. I showed up alone as my counsels recommended. Stanton and Rogers maintained that I didn't need to add more gasoline to the fire with the presence of the women.
    
      "This shows the defendant Mr. Chen, clearly participating in a wedding ritual," their lawyer spoke.
    
      The photos were to the point. However, since there was no Westernized garments, the judge had only to go by the color of the clothing and our faces. Shawn was sitting next to me, but we were both staring straight ahead (we showed no public displays of affection just to be on the safe side).
    
      Although I recognized it as a Chinese wedding, the judge thought little of it as he studied the pictures. Thinking (rightly) he was losing the judge's interest, the Horten's attorney, a little ferret named Parker, pulled another piece of paper from his folder.
    
      "Additionally you honor," he continued, "We've taken the liberty of making a photocopy of Mr. Chen's marriage license in Hong Kong."
    
      I nearly jumped out of my seat. I had forgotten about that. To satisfy Melanie's desire to frame something, I skipped down to the local records office and bullshitted the clerk into giving me a blank marriage certificate. Of course, after Melanie and I filled out the whole thing, she had framed it and left it in her room -- a room she shared with Shawn. Of course, when the Hortens visited Shawn that day before the wedding ...
    
      Motherfucker, I thought. Old man Horten was investigating me since Hong Kong.
    
      I was inwardly furious, but hid it well. If I wanted, I could've reached across the table and snapped Horten's neck with just a mild thought; I didn't, of course. There was far less bloodless, and far more effective, methods of dealing with people like George Horten.
    
      I looked at the judge and wondered how much I could blot out from his memory. As I gathered the effort and concentration to cloud his mind, I sensed I was jumping the gun. I relaxed and waited instead. The old magistrate's eyes narrowed as he read the blurry photocopy.
    
      He glanced up at both parties and said, "This is all in Chinese. I can't read a damn thing. Care to explain yourself Mr. Parker?"
    
      Parker shifted uncomfortably and offered an explanation.
    
      "If you have someone translate it your honor," he started weakly, "You can get the gist of it."
    
      "Mr. Parker," the judge let the sheet of paper fall from his fingers, "Even if you manage to translate it, the names of the bride and groom are in Chinese. They have no translation. They have no pictures. And even if Mr. Chen is as rapacious and bold as your client claims he is, he does not appear to be stupid enough to admit that his name is on this license, understand?"
    
      I could've kissed the old Caucasian coot as he went on, "Now what else do you have besides photos of people in a Chinese New Year's Parade?"
    
      I relaxed. This judge was no fool. He understood that Shawn's father was unhappy about me eloping with his daughter. However, there was no clear evidence of bigamy apart from the wedding invitations, which Horten could have easily had printed up himself. Stanton and Rogers studied the opposition just as carefully as myself.
    
      For me, Parker was an irrelevance I could discard. I had George and Laura Horten in the room. As the pre-trial hearing went on in the judge's chambers, I sifted through their memories, looking for something -- anything -- I could use against them.
    
      As a rule, I never dug into anyone's life too deeply for fear of being discovered. Just a slip of concentration and they'd be alerted that "someone" (likely me) was spying on their mind. Now, I had no choice. I had developed my technique over the years, so a 'normal' wouldn't really know he (or she) was being mind-read.
    
      For a 'normal', it was very much like recalling memories and not really knowing why save that I was staring intently at him (or her). However, that staring suited me fine now. I ransacked the Hortens' minds desperately looking for something incriminating.
    
      Sorting through the memories of the parents of a woman I was in love with was something I didn't relish, but I hunkered down and went to work. When I finally found what I was looking for, I felt nauseous. George Horten's interest in Shawn was less than wholesome. It wasn't anything unsavory between father and daughter, but it was just a form of selfishness I vowed never to do to my own children.
    
    ===============================================================================
      NEVER FUCK WITH A TELEPATH
    ===============================================================================
    
      The pre-trial hearing went nowhere and Parker insisted on a trial, using the invitations and wedding photos as evidence. It wasn't really his call, as Horten demanded it. The worse was yet to come though. Since my parents were there at the event, Parker served them subpoenas.
    
      Now, they would be committing perjury if they lied. But unless they did, I was pretty much going to get caught. I sensed George Horten would stop at nothing, so I arranged a meeting.
    
      I called his house from one of the last few pay phones in the Inner Sunset and asked him to meet at a nearby coffee house. Of course, I was already there waiting for him when he and Parker appeared.
    
      "Sit down." I didn't look up as I went through my mail.
    
      After my firing from Ditomer and a week or so of panic, I applied at several firms and gotten some receptive letters. Being on the cover of the latest Architectural Digest didn't hurt either. I had four interviews scheduled for next week.
    
      Actually, that dickish move by my boss at Ditomer hurt the firm more than it helped, for in the feature about Shawn's solar wall and the building, I was identified as a Ditomer employee. When prospective clients later called, the Ditomer human resources manager had to direct them to my new firm.
    
      "So," George Horten said curtly and sat down across from me, "Ready to give it up? Where's Shawn?"
    
      "She's hardly on speaking terms with the weasel who got the man she loves fired."
    
      I pinged both Parker and Horten and felt their unease. Ah, I sensed the reason behind the sudden nervousness. The weasel was wired. He was hoping to catch me in a lie, or somehow incriminate myself. So, we're going to play the game without rules. That was fine by me; these two fools had no idea how much trouble they could get into if I put my mind to it.
    
      "Whatever it is you're talking about," Parker went fishing for my mistakes, "My client has no knowledge of. Please be more specific or show up with your attorney."
    
      George Horten sat back, his face impassive, but I sensed his exuberance of ambushing me. It was ironic. If he wasn't Shawn's father, I'd probably just make him vanish. I might as well do that. Because what I was going to do was far worse than a mysterious disappearance.
    
      "No need." I put away my mail and looked Horten straight in the eye. "I'll make it simple, George. Drop this silly suit and things go back to normal."
    
      Silence. Parker and Horten looked at one another in confusion.
    
      "That's it?" George asked. "What about Shawn?"
    
      "What about Shawn?" I asked, "You're free to call on her anytime. It's not me who's hanging up on you every time you try. It's not me who's refusing you entry into what's essentially her home. I am more indebted to Shawn than she is to me."
    
      Horten flinched like his face was slapped. I could sense his rage and anger bubbling within. I was giddy with silent rage. This will make things go easier if he makes a mistake. 'Normals' didn't think clearly when they got angered. Saves me the trouble of planning his assassination too.
    
      "I'm going to ask once more." I smiled thinly. "Please drop your suit, Mr. Horten. Let it go."
    
      Parker's eyes slid over to his seething client.
    
      "No."
    
      That was the answer I WANTED to hear. Later, both Melanie and Viktoriya both remarked how grimly pleased I was in the days after George Horten's fate was sealed.
    
      "Then we have nothing more to discuss." I rose and bowed. "See you in court, gentlemen."
    
      Things occurred quickly after that. Using a job interview as a pretext (I didn't say with whom), I drove down to Fresno and found the person I was looking for. Once I completed the first few minutes of chatter, I had gotten what I needed and I did my thing.
    
      I drove back up and got home in time for a real interview the next day, confident that I had saved my bacon, but extremely sorry for what was about to happen. I was about to gain freedom, but Shawn was about to have her world shattered.
    
      By the time I started as a designer at a firm called Down-To-Earth a few weeks later, I was going into trial. Through some clever persuasion, I managed to head over to the civil court on MacAllister without appearing as a dead-beat slacker the first few days of my new job.
    
      Parker opened with a tirade against my lifestyle, some of which wasn't in-tune to the income I was supposedly reporting (actually, it was a fabrication since I had the paperwork and taxes to prove it). He intended to prove that I was in clear violation of not only bigamy laws, but also keeping women and children in a "compound" along with a bunch of other crap (it amazes me still what people sue over in civil court).
    
      Stanton and Rogers fired back by showing the issues of Architectural Digest that featured Shawn's solar wall and the interiors of the house. The magazine had done that piece a while ago. My plump petunia even flew out to San Francisco for the photoshoot.
    
      Also in the feature: Jules Fontana and Gracia Kosugi. The four of us posed in a group and as a couple (Jules with Gracia, me with Shawn -- nothing kinky -- this wasn't a Hustler photoshoot) in each of the furnished units.
    
      "Does this look like a compound to you, your honor?" Stanton asked.
    
      The judge didn't answer but I picked up his thoughts and nearly cracked a smile: 'No sirree.' 'It looks better than my own house.'
    
      My parents would be part of the case, but the prosecution wasn't going to start with them. Instead, Parker focused on the girls and sought to break open the case using their testimony. Rachelle went on the stand first. Only Janet and Shawn were in the chamber; the others were due to be called in a later date.
    
      "How would you characterize your relationship with the defendant, Mr. Stanley Chen?" Parker asked her.
    
      "Friendly," Rachelle said curtly then smiled. Janet and our attorneys had advised her well.
    
      "Ah I see," the counsel went on, "And are you intimate with the defendant, Miss Hollister?"
    
      "I was," my dark beauty begrudgingly gave an inch.
    
      "I see." Parker mused, "Was this during the time that Mr. Chen was married?"
    
      Rachelle nodded and gave another point for the prosecution.
    
      "Are you aware that Mr. Chen is married?" the lawyer asked her.
    
      "Yes." Rachelle flicked her eyes to Janet. My First -- bless her -- grinned bravely and dipped her head just slightly. I sensed Rachelle's great sense of relief as she relaxed.
    
      "So you admit to adultery?" Parker pressed.
    
      "Objection," Stanton reflexively called out.
    
      "Sustained," the judge eyed Parker, "I thought this was a case about bigamy counselor. Not a divorce case."
    
      "As the court pleases, your honor." The gray-suited lawyer turned back to Rachelle. "So, you can say that you and Stanley are not in an exclusive relationship?"
    
      Here was the kicker: Janet and Emily Rogers had wracked their brains on this possible question all night, trying to impress on the others how the answer would probably hurt or hinder my case. See, if there was an admission of some sort of exclusivity, it could be likely construed as one of two things:
    
      (A) a marriage of some sort, or
    
      (B) some sort of payment for exclusivity (which could lead to solicitation and prostitution charges).
    
      Rachelle though, knocked Parker's question out of the ballpark.
    
      "Stanley and I are not in an exclusive relationship," she said evenly.
    
      I sensed the pain as she said those words for a matter of public record. Still, the record mattered little, especially if we weren't inclined to let it dictate our lives. Rachelle knew I loved her, and I knew she loved me. It was enough, and it would have to do.
    
      "So if someone were to ask you out on a date," an annoyed Parker continued, "You wouldn't dismiss him -- or her -- out of hand because you have no terms of exclusivity with Mr. Chen?"
    
      "That depends who's asking." Rachelle tilted her head thoughtfully.
    
      "Would you be willing to say, 'yes'," Parker pressed, "If someone asked you out on a date, Miss Hollister?"
    
      "Again, that depends on who is asking." She regarded the skinny balding counselor with pity, "Sometimes saying I have a boyfriend or fiance can be handy when I don't want to be bothered by guys I don't like. You haven't gone out on many dates have you, Mr. Parker?"
    
      I heard a sharp snorting laugh behind me as the courtroom buzzed with chuckles and snickering. I turned around and to my surprise, found Janet covering her mouth in a vain effort to compose herself.
    
      'What the fuck?' I mouthed my question to her. Janet read my lips and she gave me a surly smile. She shook her head and sat back, pinning her gaze back at the prosecution's table.
    
      "Mr. Parker," the judge appreciated Rachelle's sarcastic candor, "You're beating a dead horse. I think you've established Miss Hollister is free to choose whom she dates, if she chooses to date one individual or several, and if she wants to tell a harmless white lie to a suitor she doesn't like; it has no bearing on this case at this point. Have you more questions for your witness?"
    
      "No, your honor." Parker was red-faced.
    
      Stanton's cross-examination was brief and to the point (and far gentler). It carried us up to the lunch hour. All this time, Shawn didn't bother to look once at her father. I sensed the conflicted feelings she had in her.
    
      Now, I felt absolutely rotten that she was going to feel ten times worse before the day was out. When they finally came, it was shortly after lunch. The judge motioned for the bailiff to escort the two deputies to the bench.
    
      "George Martin Horten," the judge read the sheaf of papers, "I have here a warrant for your arrest."
    
      There was a general uproar in the courtroom until the judge smashed his gavel several times.
    
      "There will be order in this court!" the judge's voice came over the audience's roar as the deputies "Miranda-ed" George Horten and hauled his sorry ass off to jail.
    
      Wondering what happened? Here it is in brief: Remember Shawn's older brother? The one who was killed in an "accident"? It wasn't a complete accident. See, Shawn's brother was killed by another man in a fit of revenge. Her brother (then a fourteen year old) was dating a girl his age.
    
      I don't know what George Horten was thinking (well I sort of did and it still gives me chills) but Horten had the hots for the young girl. He fucked her while she was half-dozing on a mix of codeine and a little alcohol.
    
      When the girl started showing, the girl's father tried to confront Shawn's brother when he was biking his way towards the girl's house. The older man killed the boy by accident when Shawn's brother was run off the road; the accident broke the lad's neck. Once the elder Horten realized what had happened, he fled like the damned coward he was.
    
      Instead of owning up to the truth and facing down his son's murderer, he chose to save his own ass. The accident strained the Hortens' marriage, but it didn't break it. That was one reason why the Hortens relocated to San Francisco; I'm glad they did, for that was where I met my plump petunia.
    
      Meanwhile, the girl in Fresno gave birth. Her family covered it up as another child, but the memories the girl had of George Horten were still there in her mind. 'Dormant but present,' was the phrase. All I needed was to have her recall the incident, and recall she did. With the remains of the son's accident still on record and the available DNA, there was enough to bring suspicion on Shawn's father with the similarities in gene alleles.
    
      What happened after was particularly devastating, especially to Shawn Ellen. When she heard the truth, my normally jolly darling became unglued and estranged herself from her father. Only Melanie (thank God for her) kept Shawn from slipping into terminal depression.
    
      Shawn's mother, Laura, divorced her husband soon after, citing that she could not abide living with a sexual offender. With the civil suit brought on by the Fresno girl's family, the Horten's old home in San Francisco was sold off to pay off the attorney fees. All that seriously derailed George Horten's plans in court.
    
      Shawn never spoke to her father again, and both she and Mother Horten didn't connect with the boy who was essentially Shawn's half-brother. Because it was partly my fault -- and I didn't want Shawn going through her misery alone -- I invited Mother Horten to live in the vacant guest unit until mother and daughter were ready to face the world.
    
      The others agreed on the surface; I sensed a modicum of jealousy from Rachelle that I treated Shawn's family with more respect than hers. I was about to admonish her pettiness when I snapped my mouth shut. I had set-up Shawn's father, I wanted to say. Before the words could leave my lips, I came to my senses and kicked myself for being stupid.
    
      What my 'normal' darlings experienced was separate from the empire. So, I swallowed my pride and apologized to Rachelle's sister (it was Tanya, professional bitch-at-heart) soon afterwards. I even made nice (doing her a favor) and hired the brother of Tanya's current boyfriend as an office gopher for a summer internship. Once school started, I was glad to let him move on.
    
      As for George Horten, the last I heard of him was only in passing news. Some inmates had attacked him in the prison shower and he died from a brutal blow to his head, not to mention the plastic shivs (made from toothbrushes) stuck in his heart, eyes, and testicles.
    
      But all that was down the road. After court adjourned, I saw the judge speaking with Brian Cox out in the hallway. I zeroed in on their thoughts and picked up some quick thoughts: 'Investigation.' 'RICO.' 'Grand larceny.' 'Agency.'
    
      "So what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" I looked at Agent Cox.
    
      "Ah, Mr. Chen." The judge extended his hand and I shook it. "Mr. Champion here tells me the State Department and the country owe you a great debt in the wake of 9/11."
    
      "It's always a pleasure, your honor." I nodded in what I hoped was a sage manner. "Good to see the system in good hands."
    
      He nodded and headed off down the stairs. Once the judge was out of earshot, I glanced at Cox who kept his hands behind his back.
    
      "So," I asked him casually, "Thinking about hitting me up for RICO (racketeering influenced and corrupt organization) charges?"
    
      "No. Unless there's a reason to," the burly agent replied.
    
      Cox was cool but I sensed his thoughts. He was thinking about bringing RICO charges against the judge if he wasn't cooperative with the first explanation concocted by the agency. The NSA was using a lot of CIA dirty tricks in the wake of the Trade Center collapse. The big man knitted his brow and aimed a disdainful eye in my direction.
    
      "What happened in there?"
    
      "Someone jerked my chain," I said simply, "I pulled back."
    
      "Sounds like you broke it." Cox looked around to make sure we were mostly alone. "Do we have a place we can talk?"
    
      I skimmed his mind and knew what he was going to ask about: interrogating some new detainees from god-knows-where. I guess they were secretly transporting inmates from Guantanamo into the city for selective processing.
    
      If you didn't hear about such flights, don't worry; you're not delusional or missing security clearance about it. Ghost Light was the method of transportation.
    
      "That depends on what." I stopped in a corner of the hallway. "What you do you want?"
    
      Cox looked displeased with my meeting spot, but he made his proposal as casually as possible. He slid a card with an address and a suite number on it towards me.
    
      "It will be next week. Please be on time."
    
      "I'll be there," I said, "But see if you can get this cleaned up. I don't need it hounding me."
    
      "That's what I spoke to the judge about," Cox said. "Consider it done."
    
      "And the usual retainer would help."
    
      "La Corporacion not enough?" My agency handler sounded as if he wanted to make a joke, "You almost destabilized Colombia."
    
      "Be seeing you, Champion." I gave him a pleasant smile and walked away.
    
      I said nothing more to incriminate myself. I knew Brian Cox was a screw-fuck; I went through his mind and verified Jacob Waters' story. Cox had met with Waters about the bank incident and me. I didn't care why at that point (it would've meant digging deeper, alerting Cox to my mind-probe) but I didn't care. I just needed to be careful around the agency. Tseng was right: our kind needed to be extra careful.
    
      For now, I had my fill of the 'normal' system of doing things, and of the agency bailing me out when they needed me. As handy as that was, I needed to be the one calling the shots. I finally realized why Tseng was so adamant for our kind to remain independent and strong. Viktoriya was only partly right when she said our "mental-selves" were better.
    
      No, we were better than them. As an empire citizen, I maintained a discipline in my life many 'normal' individuals would envy. Of course, as a counter-example, there was that fuckwit David Reese, who used his gift without a care in the world.
    
      Brian Cox's activities spurred me to action though. I still had some counterfeit bills from my "odd jobs". While I had been using them up as reasonably as possible (most of the counterfeits used the same rag paper the counterfeit pens couldn't detect -- that made sense since the inks, printing presses, and paper formulas were in the hands of ex-Arab nation allies the U.S. had supported decades earlier), I was sure the serial numbers would be traced.
    
      Although the discount store scheme was interesting, I wasn't able to spare the time (or had the inclination) to go into the retail business. Retail meant having an inventory, which could be seized, sabotaged, or otherwise fucked with. I wanted to minimize the potential avenues of the agency jerking my chain, so I opted for the traditional service industries: laundromats, dry cleaners, and a delicatessen franchise.
    
      The cleaning business was a given in San Francisco. With so many high-profile business people and tourists, coupled with a high rate of renters, the laundry business was pretty sure-fire. Taking a cue from my mother's obsession with Solitaire, I installed a few pachinko machines to occupy the laundry customers.
    
      It wasn't gambling (since the games were free and reset themselves every five minutes) but the laundromats grew quite popular; patrons would tell me they could gauge when their laundry was done by how many games they played.
    
      As for the delicatessen business, I joined a sandwich franchise and opened up two stores: one near Janet's old house (a shopping mall on Sloat Boulevard) to cater to the student lunch crowd, and a second one in downtown removed enough from the dregs on Market Street to nab business from the local McDonald's.
    
      Business was good. Several days a week, I'd check with the various store managers and handle the money. I'd have the largest denominations from my stash and swapped about half of the day's proceeds (my official excuse was 'allowance for the kids' although after exchanging hundreds and thousands of dollars, that was starting to wear thin).
    
      It was still petty, but at least I got rid of most of my fakes. The rest was real money (laced with traces of cocaine, but still genuine) so I simply used it for daily expenses, or buying the occasional precious metal ingot and stashing it away.
    
      By now, I had moved the cash pile from my old room to my new unit; it's a good thing I was the building's architect and a telekinetic. I knew where I could pull up the floor boards or remove ceiling panels to stuff the millions in loose change (Tecate, Ojinga, and Colombia) I had left.
    
      After I had cleaned the rest of my loot (that took quite a while), the places were profitable enough that I didn't pull the plug. For a time, I even used the businesses as a teaching tool in class (most licensed architects are required to teach or to continue their education in order to keep their licenses; since I hadn't tried it, I decided to try teaching at City College).
    
      See, design students sometimes threw themselves into projects without regard to what was expected from them. In the one lesson plan I had created, it was to design a combination business/residential unit -- a "micro plaza" -- that included a variety of food vendors, cleaning services, places to exercise, and light urban housing.
    
      Among the criteria of the project's program: nearly everything had to be in walking distance. By exposing my students to actual experiences (not necessarily food cooking), I hoped to have better prepared them for the rigors of what was to be expected of them (unlike me, these students were not "gifted" as I was and needed to work far harder).
    
      Of course, any student who opted to work was "expedited" and slotted some extra hours (to avoid violating labor laws). I was a pervert, a telekinetic, a mind-reader, a polygamist (case dismissed), a pedophile (once with Melanie -- and thrice with Shawn; it was break-up / make-up sex after she dated Scott and she was practically eighteen), but I wasn't about to cross the Department of Labor or the IRS.
    
      With the bigamy case against me dismissed; no criminal filing materialized. Between the pressure being brought on by the agency and the lack of interest on part of the state attorney general's and local district attorney's offices, Parker wasn't paid. The case had floundered long before the judge threw it out. The Hollisters backed down when they realized how much it would take to win, and that they had no particular reason to go after me.
    
      Despite our earlier disagreements, I was feeling more gracious with them than George Horten; I knew they were bullied into siding against me. Rachelle was surprised I even paid their end of the legal bill (Parker's billable hours for his clients were non-negotiable, and the court did not waive them for the plaintiffs).
    
      "Please come and visit," I said to Rachelle's parents, "We'll be more than happy to have you over."
    
      Rachelle was more than overjoyed. It was a far better outcome than she expected.
    
      "Thank you sugar," she said, "For not holding a grudge."
    
      "'Course not," I smiled but I suspected there was a reckoning to come.
    
      I did a little more digging into George Horten before he died, and found that Craig Simmons had made trouble for me again. He was the one who had been keeping tabs on Rachelle, and it was he who had directed Horten to the Hollister family. Looking back, I should've offed him and be done with it. But at the time I thought I had done enough.
    
      I had torn apart what little was left of Shawn's family, cowed the Hollisters and Lychenkos (okay, Viktoriya helped with the latter but it was all good), and stepped so high above the law I could've broken my neck. So, I didn't do anything with Craig Simmons. It was a decision I'd come to regret later.
    
    ===============================================================================
      PRECIOUS MOMENTS -- VIKTORIYA
    ===============================================================================
    
      2007 marked a mild milestone: it had been twenty years since I'd met my lovely, capable First and yet we were still relatively young. She was only 36 (with two children) and I was just 32 (with a lot more kids to keep track of). By now, our family had grown somewhat.
    
      Janet had two children: Michael (born 2001) and Frederick (born late 2004). Melanie had her first child (er ...wait, wait, wait ... right, Norman) in February of 2007. Shawn had given birth to Kady (born 2005) while Viktoriya was totally fine with just having Milhail (born 2002) due to her business in New York City.
    
      I knocked up Rachelle (after a little more trying) and she surprised everyone by popping out a set of twin girls (Danielle and Janelle) in mid-2005. Jamie had already gave birth to our own child Jenny in 2004 -- nine years Jillian's junior. My step-daughter suddenly found she had plenty of siblings to help with.
    
      Luckily, there were enough moms around to keep the constant feeding, diapers, burping, and agitated cries to a minimum. Jillian (like me) really only enjoyed playing around with the babies and not the other stuff. Unfortunately, as the common father, I couldn't pass on my responsibilities.
    
      What really got to me in 2006 was Viktoriya. My most daring darling was moving back to New York City. After her initial sabbatical in 2001, she quit the institute to take care of Milhail until he was old enough to be schooled.
    
      But dancing was still on her mind and the Big Apple tempted her with its secret palpitating heart. She went back to the motion studies institute as an instructor and a dancesport competitor early in the year, just when Milhail qualified for pre-school.
    
      Although she left Milhail in mine's and Janet's capable hands, it irked me greatly. I didn't mind the extra responsibility, but I had earnestly enjoyed our brief time together as man and wife.
    
      'I'll be back kisa.' Viktoriya bumped heads with me before she left. 'I always do. You know that!'
    
      'Doubtless, I'm going to miss you terribly.' I thought-spoke.
    
      'Don't be surly Stanislav.' Her fingers brushed the corner of my eye and I felt a warm wetness on my skin. She quickly admonished me. 'And don't cry. Seeing you so will make Milhail think I'm leaving forever.'
    
      I could no longer stay with Viktoriya at the gate until she left because of the new security measures, so I had to be content with seeing her off outside the security gate. As we hugged each other, I leaned close to her ear and whispered goodbye.
    
      "Dos vedanya*." [* Russian: Goodbye]
    
      "No," her voice nearly broke, "Only until tomorrow Stanislav. I promise!"
    
      Viktoriya kept me posted daily through mind-sight just as we did all those years ago. I knew that once she was back in New York, she'd shack with her "friend" Freya in the old Brooklyn neighborhood for a while. Why she did so was no surprise (considering her secret Sapphic appetites); however, I also knew Viktoriya was terribly lonely. Milhail would've been too if Jillian and Michael hadn't kept him company. I wondered how long it would take for Viktoriya to become homesick again.
    
      Still, there were other developments that kept me busy. Aside from my professional and familial responsibilities, I had started a second personal project in 2005 that was eating up more of my time. In an effort to keep my mind off my absent Cossack lovebird, I engrossed myself in them. First and foremost of them were my five other darlings (and their respective children) ...
    
    ===============================================================================
      PRECIOUS MOMENTS -- JANET
    ===============================================================================
    
      Janet had left Friedman, Hoch, Brenner, & Glasser after some polygamist groups began pestering her after the civil suit against me fizzled. Her reputation was starting to taint her cases (another reason I'm not particularly sorry George Horten went out the way he did) so she opted to go elsewhere.
    
      Luckily, a bigger firm (Haeder and Reed) had noticed her track record in earlier civil suits and they hired her once she was available. Along with the bigger cases came more billable hours -- and a higher fee schedule.
    
      Much of my First's track record of course, was mostly me "looking into" the parties she was involved with. Horten's case was merely a prelude to the secrets I could unearth. I simply sat with Janet at public dinner appointments with her clients and scanned their minds.
    
      Through them, I'd do some "investigative work" on my lunch hour to dig up secrets and drop hints of it when I could. To me, it was an exercise. For Janet, she thought I was a lucky charm. That suited me fine. I loved my first darling enough that I'd do anything for her, and she for me.
    
      Remember that house Janet had bought? She planned out a big, big surprise for me on my 31st birthday. Janet decided to install an outdoor swimming pool in her backyard so I could use it to exercise. She knew the costs were nearly prohibitive, but did so out of her love for me.
    
      It started when Janet began noticing Shawn and I coming back late on certain days. At first, Janet thought it was me spending a little more time with my Anglo angel due to the recent events with the Hortens, or we were coming back late from the City College of San Francisco.
    
      As I noted before, Shawn and I had to either continue our education or contribute to it in order to keep our license to practice (Janet herself took extra coursework from San Francisco State but did so online, so she was home most of the time).
    
      However, as time passed, our "late nights" were fairly predictable. What made it all interesting was Shawn and I often came back at the same time (and with our hair wet from showering). Janet grew suspicious (and a little jealous) and finally wormed it out of my plump dumpling that we've been spending our early evenings at Rossi Pool.
    
      Rossi was one of the few indoor, heated pools in the city of San Francisco. Every day, a number of hours were set aside for citizens to use it for lap swimming or diving & "freeplay" (the latter can occur concurrently since the deep end of the pool was used only for diving and the shallow end for seniors, children, and physical therapy).
    
      I didn't like lap swimming since I could propel myself through water faster simply using telekinesis. However, working out normally even just a few days a week had started reducing my paunch, as well as slimming Shawn's waist and belly. So, Janet decided to present me (and the family) with our own pool.
    
      It wasn't big (her lot size was a small squat square -- my big building more or less determined the rest of the lots on that block) hence she simply went the way of a deep wading pool. Janet ordered the whole thing (online) and had the workmen install and fill it one day.
    
      I took immediate notice when I saw a trio of workmen in jumpsuits at her house when I came home. I knew I hadn't scheduled any repairs or construction, so I got curious. I pinged the crew lightly and found out what they were doing. They greeted me when I introduced myself as the houseowner's neighbor.
    
      "It's a surprise for her husband," one of the guys said off-hand, "That lady couldn't stop talking about it."
    
      "Oh really?" I scratched my ear. "I guess she can get long-winded sometimes."
    
      "You bet." The workman all jostled, joked, and grinned.
    
      "Yeah well, we're done." The older foreman nodded towards the wood-slatted eyesore in Janet's backyard. "She even requested to be filled so the lucky lug can get his surprise when he gets back."
    
      "Oh that's nice," I said.
    
      A play pool in San Francisco? I almost laughed. Of course filling the pool was expensive. Water in our city was billed twice. Once (at an exorbitant rate) for how much is used and a second time for how much is expelled (generally the same number). Hence our water bills in San Francisco were generally four to five times that of other counties like Santa Clara or Alameda.
    
      The thought of my First being generous made me giddy, and I decided to give her a surprise welcome. I waited until Janet came home and pounced her when she was peering over the edge. She let out an undignified shriek as we both hit the water. I had used telekinesis to dampen the shock on both of us. Still, being kerplunked into a big pool of chilly water as the sun set wasn't the greatest feeling.
    
      My First spat out a stream of water as she surfaced and screamed, "Lei shouw jou-a?!*" [* Cantonese: Have you gone mad?!]
    
      I laughed and pinned her to the side of the pool where I macked on her warm, wet face and lips.
    
      "You maniac!" Janet slapped my face. "You've ruined a $400 pantsuit and made me all wet."
    
      I laughed it off as I hauled her out of the water then out of those wet clothes. Seeing Janet's hair wet, her make-up a blurry mess, and her petite Cantonese body as she slipped off those damp clothes gave me a raging hard-on. I seized her roughly by the wrist and before she could utter a surprised cry, I fucked her raw on the grass next our new pool.
    
      "You brute!" Janet pinched my ears viciously, "Viktoriya's right. We should have you neutered."
    
      We celebrated our 20th "meeting" anniversary with a home-cooked meal which we ate off each other's bodies. Jan and I officially celebrated that night at the Golden Gate Beach Chalet restaurant. After dinner, we both took a short, chilly walk down to the beach where we had spent our time together as kids.
    
      "Remember when I told you I'd be a pedophile if I slept with you?" Janet embraced me at the sea wall.
    
      "Yeah you sicko." I pinched her bottom. "You screwed me up for life."
    
      "You immature fucker." Janet bit my chin playfully. "Can't you behave yourself for just a minute? Some dad you are!"
    
      "Make me, liang-lui*." [* Cantonese: Pretty lady or pretty girl. Used alone, it is considered a cat-call]
    
      I bumped noses with her. I was surprised at how much I had grown to tower over my regal First. "But I'm glad things turned out the way it did."
    
      "Me too." She clutched me tightly. "Especially since I love you."
    
      "I love you, too." I returned her hug tenderly.
    
      As happy as things with the pool (and everything else) turned out, Janet and I discussed safety precautions in earnest. We both knew all the children (except Jillian) were too young to be playing near one, so we made it a strict policy to disallow them from coming into Janet's house until they reached the age of six. It suited everyone anyway, since the eco-condo was safe and secured from the outside.
    
    ===============================================================================
      PRECIOUS MOMENTS -- MELANIE
    ===============================================================================
    
      Melanie in the meantime, had moved beyond her job at the country club. Instead of a part-time apprentice chef, she was now a special "guest" chef at the Cliff House restaurant. This was due to her splendid ability to pick the freshest ingredients, and produce the most scrumptious Asian fusion dishes in quick order.
    
      The grocery trips we went on when we were children paid off as Melanie would demand only the best ingredients. Her skill with the knife would make any sadistic chirugurgeon proud; she knew which portions were good and which weren't.
    
      It was good fortune Little Chen found work close to the condo. Not only was she only a few blocks away (she could walk to work in 15 minutes), but I was greatly relieved, for it spared her the dangerous drive on the oft foggy coastal highway where the country club's entrance was located.
    
      Unfortunately, she developed something of a temper in her work-kitchen. While Yu-Ching was patient and gentle with the children, junior and apprentice chefs soon learned to fear her more than that British fellow on Hell's Kitchen (Gordon Ramsey, that's his name right?).
    
      Melanie didn't just have a checklist; she had a damn TIME-TABLE along with the exact portions of each dish. God help any 'prentice chef if he (or she) fucked up in her kitchen. Even me, with my affinity to grab the occasional thought from Melanie, and having cooked with her for nearly a decade and a half, sometimes got in her way.
    
      "Out, out, out!" Melanie kicked me out of the kitchen when I was over at her place once.
    
      Of course afterwards, she was apologetic. She quietly put baby Norman to bed as I cleaned up our dishes. I sat down and hadn't closed my eyes for a half minute when I felt Yu-Ching's weight on my lap.
    
      "Yuen-lieung wo-a dai-yieh*," Melanie slipped into archaic Cantonese when she wanted to tiptoe back into my graces. [* Cantonese: Please forgive me sire.]
    
      My eyelids parted slightly and I saw her curled in my lap, just as she had when she was a child.
    
      "Don't worry about it," I said with half an ear. I just wanted to sleep but Melanie had other ideas. Encouraged by my casual forgiveness, she nuzzled my neck tenderly. I groaned more from annoyance than from arousal. I drew an arm around her and pulled her close.
    
      "You love me right?" I asked her.
    
      "Of--of course I do!" Melanie sounded shocked, "Why?"
    
      "Then lemme sleep okay?" I gathered her in my arms like a stuffed toy.
    
      I heard Little Chen sigh as I rubbed her belly. She had taken to doing stomach crunches in addition to water resistance exercises in Janet's pool to get her petite figure back. All that hard work showed.
    
      It'd been mere six months since little Normie had been born and Melanie's stomach had flattened back into shape. Only some minor stretch marks remained, but I thought it gave her more character than she thought.
    
      I gently scratched her baby blemishes and drifted off into sleep. True to my heart's fondest wish, Melanie didn't disturb me a whit. When I woke refreshed the next day, I found myself tucked in tight with a blanket and had one of the soundest sleeps I've had yet in some time.
    
      My youngest darling wife had taken Norman downstairs to my place so his cries wouldn't wake me.
    
    ===============================================================================
      PRECIOUS MOMENTS -- SHAWN
    ===============================================================================
    
      Across the hall from Yu-Ching's unit, my doughty darling Shawn was doing fine despite the estrangement and recent death of her father. She and her mother (now going just by her maiden name, Laura Benton) grew much closer after Kady's birth.
    
      With Mother Benton taking care of Kady, Shawn was able to get back to work at Forrester-Duncan (whose offices were actually two floors below mine at Down-To-Earth).
    
      "Fo-Dunk" was an engineering contracting firm that did work with Pacific Gas and Electric, one of Northern California's premiere utility companies. Shawn's solar wall and its inclusion into my building was a big first step in the clean/green technology industry.
    
      One of her first projects at Fo-Dunk was to simplify the connections of her solar wall design so they'd be modular. She eventually did so with my help (and Jules looking over our shoulders to make sure we didn't make any mistakes).
    
      "Thank you Stanley." Shawn kissed me. Earlier that week, she handed in her report and gotten some rave compliments.
    
      "Don't forget Jules pumpkin." I gave her ample ass a tender squeeze. "He helped too."
    
      "I'm sure he'll settle for a handshake," she said quietly. My plump dumpling had become less boisterous since her father's sordid end. When she smiled, it was only because her daughter Kady had managed to burp, fart, cry, or gurgle.
    
      "I only kid." I pouted comically. "Forgive me, muffin?"
    
      "Of course." Shawn rested her head on my shoulder then added, "For you, always."
    
      Kady was downstairs with Shawn's mother, Laura. I looked around, and making sure we were alone, I pinched her bubble butt playfully.
    
      "Ouch!" Shawn glared at me angrily. "I said I forgave you! Why'd you pinch me?"
    
      "What do you think?" I laughed and pulled her to the couch. My plump dumpling's cheeks (both sets I knew) immediately flushed red.
    
      "Stanley, stop!" she cried as I pulled her pants off. She sounded so concerned that I immediately stopped what I was doing.
    
      "What's wrong baby girl?" I asked.
    
      "I don't have any condoms, and I'm not on the pill," Shawn said flatly.
    
      "So?" I winked. "That's what food wrap is for."
    
      "Oh no you don't!" her eyes grew wide. "Some of it leaked out last time and that's how we wound up with Kady! And her fat head nearly wrecked my vagina! I'm not doing that again!!"
    
      "Damn." I glanced at her with a frown.
    
      Shawn had the easiest birth I'd seen. Those wide hips of hers really helped with the delivery. My Anglo-angel was right though: our daughter Kady did have a fat head. She was earnestly one of the most stubborn children I'd dealt with. It might've been because Kady was unplanned.
    
      I planned for the other kids (well most of them) but Shawn was happy being childless for a bit longer. Our work-load had been steadily increasing with all the building that had been going on, and children were little time-vampires. As the plump woman tried to pull away, I decided to have a little fun.
    
      "C'mere you." I pulled her back so I encircled her body with my arms.
    
      "Whaaaaaat?" Shawn sounded annoyed. "I have stuff to do."
    
      "Really?" I kissed her neck. "I just wanna check your boobs."
    
      "Why?" Shawn turned her head partly so I saw her puzzled look.
    
      "Lumps, what else?" I gently fondled her fatty H-cups through her bodice.
    
      The plump young woman was healthy now and I wanted to keep it that way. Shawn had breast-fed Kady; as much as my daughter loved her daily breakfast being served from the largest pair of natural jugs in NorCal, I had personal interest in them too.
    
      "You're always so horny, Stanley." Shawn sighed and pawed my crotch. "You should just jerk off occasionally, y'know?"
    
      "Now why would I do that?" I asked and gently squeezed her fat tits through the fabric.
    
      Shawn shivered a bit, but her voice held firm, "Because I read something that if a guy cums twice a week, his chances of getting testicular cancer drops by a good 50 percent."
    
      "So if I do the math correctly." I managed a chuckle. "I've dropped my chances by like 5,973 percent?"
    
      "You pervert!" Shawn giggled softly and leaned into me as I massaged her massive mammaries. The warmth of her breasts flowed through the sheer fabric as I kissed the nape of her neck. She felt soft, warm, and pliant. No part of her felt out of place or lumpy and having played with Shawn for so long, I knew what was out of place. My Anglo angel rubbed my pants, stroking me hard.
    
      I groaned as Shawn's fingers dug at my crotch; we had learned that with a little fabric or underwear, our skin was far more sensitive than simply skin-to-skin contact. Something to do with the nerve endings. Whatever it was, it was something Shawn and I had gradually shared with the others over the years. Shawn slowly worked my balls and cock out of my pants (the skillful little minx she was).
    
      I could feel her not only enticing me, but also checking me up as well. My plump petunia didn't give great head, but she knew how to handle my balls -- she learned the finer points directly from Janet. I relaxed and my feeling of comfort passed from my mind to Shawn's as I held her. I felt her weight as she slumped lazily into my arms.
    
      "Feel nice baby doll?" I asked.
    
      "Yeah." Shawn gave me a bubbly grin. Her hands were on mine as we reclined on the sofa.
    
      "Just you wait." I snuck a free hand down her pants and buzzed her love button with my gift. Using a little telekinesis, I pressed her sensitive area from within while I leaked a thin stream of erotic thoughts and feelings to her mind.
    
      "Oh god!" Shawn swooned as she grabbed a handful of my hair.
    
      "What's the matta'?" I brushed her hair back, "You feeling okay pumpkin?"
    
      "Oh--oh--oh," was all she could say as I TK-rolled her G-spot and buzzed her mind. Shawn mewed softly as I pulled off her pants and top. I placed my Anglo angel on her on her back and roved all over her body. Where I knew she'd be sensitive, I stopped and kissed her with my soft lips and tickled her with my tongue.
    
      Shawn's skin flushed red with excitement as I kissed her breasts lightly and climbed on top of her. Shawn let out a short cry of surprise as I rammed her raw, not caring if Kady would have another sister or brother in nine months. My dumpling's whole body was rosy red as she came a total of four times over the course of twelve minutes (heh - women).
    
      Once was enough for me though. I pulled out and sprayed so much spunk, it dribbled over her fat titties and ran all the way down to her rose red cooze. I basked in her warmth of her cute cuddly body for an hour or so and called it a night. As much as I would've loved to spend the night at the girl's unit, we were all more comfortable in our own respective units. For a loud snorer like myself, it was a good solution; I kept no one awake, and my girls loved me for it.
    
    ===============================================================================
      PRECIOUS MOMENTS -- JAMIE
    ===============================================================================
    
      The unit just above mine was where Jamie, Jillian, and Jenny lived. My vixen from Vegas had graduated in 2003 and began working on various websites as the Internet boom re-surged after the '99 dot-com crash. Since she specialized in general IT (information technology) all she pretty much did was stay on top of networking protocols, Java and Java Script, communication products (Outlook, Web-X, NetMeeting, and the like), and had most of the day to herself.
    
      While the youthful Asian mother worked odd hours, she also had the freedom of doing pilates (or light yoga) when it suited her. It certainly helped her (and Viktoriya) regain their lean athletic figure after giving birth. The current company she was at, News Corporation, was a giant multi-national conglomerate handling several well known web properties.
    
      Because she worked downtown, she would often have lunch with Janet, Shawn, and me. Jamie was both bright and eager to make up for lost time. The time Jamie felt she'd wasted in the late '90s always seemed to haunt her.
    
      "Never do that again," Jamie would repeat over and over to Jillian when the girl ran into difficulties or make an error. "Learn from your mistakes, understand?"
    
      There was a sense of urgency the way the mother pressured the daughter as the latter grew older. I tempered Jamie's roughshod attempts with a little more sophistication. In every case, we both did our best for her.
    
      Jillian wasn't aware that something was strange about her "real" father until she was a little older. Because of her mixed step-siblings (Milhail, Kady, Janelle, and Danielle), Jillian never gave her appearance much thought. Jill wasn't even too conscious that her half-sister Jenny appeared markedly different from her. And sometimes, like sisters, they'd did some crazy things when they were kids.
    
      "Dad!! We need some help."
    
      Jillian hauled three year-old Jenny into the room where Jamie and I were pouring over Rachelle's latest disaster. My black beauty had a dead hard drive and some files had for work were lost in limbo (Melanie and Jamie later set up a private family server to back-up vital data and records). Thankfully, Jamie was on hand to do some quick repair work (Yu-Ching was working at the Cliff House that night).
    
      "What is it?" I looked up and saw Jenny's face was marked up like a crazy clown. I chuckled as Jenny squealed excitedly and ran towards me, her eyelids, lips, and cheeks each a different garish shade of red, green and black.
    
      "Jillian!" Jamie's tone came out a little harsher than I liked. "What happened?!"
    
      "We were in the bathroom and we were playing." The pre-teen suddenly became pensive. I sensed she was a little fearful of being punished.
    
      "I'll take care of this." I gave Jamie's shoulder an assuring squeeze. "Should come off right?"
    
      "Yeah, I guess." Jamie scowled and asked Jillian sternly, "Did you play with the nail polish?"
    
      "No, mom." Jill rocked on her heels as I strode between them, pulling Jenny gently along.
    
      "Okay. Make sure you don't." Jamie turned back to Rachelle's dead drive and cursed under her breath.
    
      Jenny squirmed and fidgeted as I rubbed her face gently with a diluted Noxeema pad. It was a strong chemical for a toddler, but Jamie's make-up was water resistant.
    
      "Mom's always so mean," Jillian said as she sat dejectedly in corner, "But you're cool though, dad."
    
      "Now don't say that," I soaked a wash cloth to rinse off Jenny's chemical laden face. "Your mom's doing her best. Just try not to give her too much to do, okay? She's got her hands full with your sister and her job."
    
      "'Kay dad," Jillian replied as she caught Jenny by the arm.
    
      The tot was trying to wander back outside before she was completely cleaned up. The little girl whined loudly until her older sister sat her on her lap and mimicked a bouncing ride. For a kid who suddenly had a bunch of step-mothers, Jillian was holding up pretty well.
    
      As part of her growing up, my stepdaughter knew to call her own mother (Jamie) "mom" but she called the others by their first names after a suitable title (i.e., Mommy Janet, Mother Shawn, Momma Rachelle, and so forth, but never an 'aunt' unless we were in public).
    
      With Melanie being the closest to Jillian's age (by a slim margin of thirteen years), I was probably the most adamant on this topic. The generational divide had to be drawn somewhere, and Melanie was as young as I was willing to go, publicly anyway. Jillian was my little girl and that was that; I had promised Jamie that years ago and I stuck with it.
    
      Jenny was finally cleaned up and she sped off to pester her birth-mother once more. Thankfully, something had been done while I was scraping off a ton of mascara and rouge from my daughter's face. Rachelle's hard drive was humming but there was a data cable going from one tower to another.
    
      "It'll take a while." Jamie bounced her youngest on her knee, "But it'll work."
    
      "Thanks sister." I winked and she blushed.
    
      Jamie kissed Jenny and wrinkled her nose when she smelled the chemicals used to clean up the mascara mess. My Asian beauty smiled lop-sidedly at me and I grinned stupidly back. She rubbed Jenny's cheek as she tried to squirm out of her mother's grip. Jamie set Jenny down, who then proceeded to putter towards me.
    
      When I reached for her, she squealed and zipped back to her mom. I saw Jillian peek around the corner at the corner of my eye. I sensed that she saw us in the room, and that we weren't mad. Jill retreated back into her room. She probably had enough of Jenny for the day and was probably going online to chat on her netbook before dinner.
    
      Kids today, I sighed inwardly.
    
      Things certainly had changed since my darlings and I were teens. Jamie installed Net-Nanny on Jillian's machine and vigorously tracked where she was and whom she was talking to. That, coupled with my occasional "light reads" to know what she was up to meant Jamie's policy about boys was rigorously enforced; Jill wouldn't start dating until she was in high school.
    
      As Jamie put it: having a boy as a friend was okay, but a "boyfriend" was not. I wasn't one to argue with Jamie -- even she had more experience parenting than Janet -- so I followed Jamie's lead and backed up her play.
    
      "You know," Jamie cleared her throat and said, "You should tell Rachelle to keep all that on a data drive. Swap it out if her system drive crashes. It's less of a headache if it happens again."
    
      "You tell her that." I gave her a small grin. "You're not afraid of her too are you?"
    
      "No," she was apprehensive. "It's just that, well, YOU know."
    
      Yeah, I thought. I did know. Janet still harbored a grudge against Rachelle (and vice versa). The only reason things didn't break open into open sniping was because I absolutely forbade it. It wouldn't do for the kids to choose sides either, so that was the one thing on my mind when I knocked their two heads together after another one of their shouting matches.
    
      However, the Rachelle versus Janet divide was still evident and I was keenly aware who was siding with who. Janet was the queen bee (there wasn't a doubt) but aside from Jamie, there was precious little support in ostracizing Rachelle.
    
      In the effort of not rocking the boat, Melanie, Shawn, and Viktoriya all treated Janet and Rachelle neutrally. Only Jamie, with her lack of understanding how the others thought (coupled with her not knowing how the rivalry started) decided to throw in her lot with Janet. Despite that (or because of the guilt of it), she'd interact on Rachelle on a more limited (but friendly) fashion behind Janet's back.
    
      "We could back it all up to tape." I threw out a sudden suggestion, "How's about that employee discount of yours for a small server?"
    
      "Are you crazy?!" Jamie's eyes widened. "You want to get me fired?"
    
      "It was just a thought Jay." I chuckled and kissed her tenderly.
    
      Jenny whined for some attention and Jamie happily relinquished her to me. The transfer was done by dinner-time and I hustled the computer across the hall to Rachelle's place; my black beauty was out that day, having taken the twins to visit her folks, and anticipating nothing could be done about her PC. I headed back to Jamie's for supper. After dinner, I took Jamie out for one of our rare evenings alone.
    
      Normally, I refrained from public displays of affection with any girl when we went out as a group. It would've been a bit obvious what was going on. Besides, if I paid attention to one woman, I had to do the same for the others. It could easily get out of hand (especially when Melanie started up a competition). However, when I got time alone with one of my darlings, I lavished as much time on her as if we were dating exclusively.
    
      For Jamie, our time alone was a nice change of pace when she wasn't on 24/7 call for her IT department. Since she made time for me, I eagerly reciprocated my time for her.
    
      That night, she dressed to kill and did it with the minimum of clothing. She only wore a conservative black bikini that wasn't so conservative once one knew that was all she was wearing on top. My sultry siren kept warm with a short denim jacket. It showed off the killer body she possessed (strip-dancing at home and the gym helped) and bared her lean midriff for all to see.
    
      Her jeans were torn in just the right spots (heh-heh) and even with a thin belt on, I could see her bikini line peek over the pant's top hem. Jamie finished off her ensemble with a pair of low-heeled white leather pumps that practically screamed "white-trash whore", except Jamie was very Asian** and totally fuckable despite her "mom" status.
    
      [** Author's note: Some of you have asked why I've discriminated Janet and Melanie from Jamie by using the term, "Asian". The simple fact of the matter is that Janet and Melanie have retained their native cultural language whereas Jamie hasn't bothered using it at all. Some first generation children do not speak their parents' native dialect, although they can understand it (as stated in Chapter 3). Externally, Jamie is Mongoloid; however, she is probably more Americanized than the other two "Asian" girls, hence the generic adjective.]
    
      The two of us hit some of the livelier places on Polk Street (between Sutter and Post) and had a relaxed, if loud, night of carousing, dancing, and petting in the corner of the club. Since I never drank large amounts of alcohol (I stuck chiefly to Bloody Marys if pressed) I was able to watch Jamie as she took in a few and got totally blasted.
    
      "Gimme --hic!-- me anud'der beb'bee," Jamie slurred as she threw herself on top of me during the cab ride home.
    
      "Whoa Jay-doll, just wait a sec ..." I waved to the driver. "43rd and Geary."
    
      The cabbie started without another word. I calmed Jamie down with a brief touch and kept her pacified and sitting on my lap. I noticed the driver tried hard not to look into the rear-view mirror as Jamie took off her jacket, revealing her athletic shoulders and back, then proceeded to give me a private lap dance in the backseat of the car. For keeping the cab on the road and not crashing, I tipped the guy a $50 bill. He could use some of that to buy a new pair of pants after ogling my wife.
    
      I covered Jamie up and helped her stumble back inside her condo unit. The Asian beauty was drunk but still extremely frisky. When I tried to usher Jamie to the shower, she grabbed and pulled me into the living room. There, we wound up fucking on the carpet for what seemed like the first time in a long, long while. What a night that was!
    
    ===============================================================================
      PRECIOUS MOMENTS -- RACHELLE
    ===============================================================================
    
      In contrast with Jamie's much improved life -- just across the hall from her unit -- Rachelle was having a tougher time of things. After she left Craig, there wasn't a good way for her to go back to her job in Los Angeles without her slimy ex trying to worm himself back into her life. My black beauty quit his company, but with her mediocre skills and lack of good references, it was tough to land another job.
    
      Nonetheless, neither Rachelle or I were discouraged. I regarded video production like book publishing: Rachelle just needed good product knowledge and how to work it so people would watch it (or buy it; for broadcast, views and audience reach determined advertisement volume). I encouraged her to take some night classes to sharpen her skills and to expand her repertoire.
    
      "Get some good vocational stuff going," I suggested, "You said you know about video editing right? Then do some more until it's second nature, sugar."
    
      "Oh Stanley," Rachelle returned the compliment, "You and the others are so talented it puts me to shame."
    
      "Try not to think that way." I patted her hand, "Everyone's good at something; you just need to find it."
    
      So Rachelle tried her hand at video editing soon after giving birth to the twins. Jamie even grabbed some video editing software from her work to help out (Melanie found the cracks to hack it so the license was freed). Rachelle didn't do badly, but she didn't excel either.
    
      The problem was she could've done better, but Rachelle often tried to goof off instead of putting in some extra work to polish her pieces. I suppose I could've berated her, but that wasn't really my way. If she wasn't doing what she enjoyed doing, no amount of lecturing would've changed her habits; nothing short of complete mind-control.
    
      I didn't bother with that because that meant one of two things: 
    
      (A) I spent every waking moment of my life consciously controlling her every action, not a happy situation, or 
    
      (B) I completely alter her memories and experiences that made Rachelle who she was.
    
      At her age (32) she was more or less set in her ways. And despite her light skin, she was not as favored as one might think; her family wasn't privileged. Her father was a mill-wright, not a Boule, and Rachelle's mother was just a plain old secretary.
    
      Upsetting as it was, I had to accept my high-school honey for who she was (a methodical thinker who got easily distracted). The alternative was to cast her and our twin girls out of the house, and I wasn't going to do THAT. As heartless as I was with strangers and outsiders, I took care of my own.
    
      So, I did my best to encourage Rachelle despite her penchant for being a scatter-brain. One thing was for sure, she knew how to have fun. Rachelle was into the little shops and Bohemian micro-neighborhoods all over San Francisco. On one of our days together, she and I explored a small candy shop in the Castro District with the twins in tow.
    
      The girls had a blast, munching on enough candy to give them a mild tummy ache. Janelle finally threw up before dinner. This caused her sister Danielle to cry out in alarm (I later learned the twins were empathic, but only with one other). The rest of the day was spent cleaning up toddler vomit, laundering clothes, and stroking their bellies until they felt better. Later that night, Rachelle was bewailing herself for letting her babies get sick.
    
      "Don't blame yourself." I comforted her. "Kids get sick all the time."
    
      "I'm a horrible mother!" Rachelle sobbed. "A failure! I'm hopeless Stanley!"
    
      "Hush Ra-Ra." I held her. "You're a good mom. And you learned something right?"
    
      "What?" she sniffed. "What did I learn?"
    
      I wanted to roll my eyes, but I maintained my smile. She was still thinking as if she was a young woman and not a parent. Well, too late for that now.
    
      "Don't let them eat too much candy." I tickled her chin lightly until she broke into a sad smile.
    
      Rachelle hugged me tightly and said, "You're so sweet."
    
      "Hey," I joked, "What'd we just discuss about candy?"
    
      "Huh?" she glanced at me quizzically. It took her a moment but she finally got the joke. "Oh you and your word games."
    
      The twins were asleep (finally) and we had just a few more hours left before I'd have to go. I stroked Rachelle's bare arm but she was hardly in the mood (I admit the stench of vomit was a buzz-kill). So, I spent the rest of the day checking out Rachelle's unit and seeing what needed to be fixed. Aside from being the owner of the building, I was the landlord.
    
      While I was sure none of my darlings would, technically they each could sue my ass for neglecting to fix their condos. Rachelle followed me around, and the two of us fixed some of the odder systems in the condo. Because the building used "tankless" heaters, fixing leaky pipes took a different approach.
    
      For example, there wasn't a separate hot water pipe, but a section of pipe that was specially built to be heated. Replacing it required shutting off circuit breakers to prevent electrocution.
    
      My dark-skinned darling got her hands dirty, nosing around the basement and under the sink. The two of us learning together got her back into the mood. When the last of our tasks were done, Rachelle eagerly touched my hands and arms, signaling that she was ready.
    
      However, I was a little too tired and distracted. So, we compromised and did a little laundry. I marveled how much clothing our twin girls went through. That, and the pressure from her job at the Public Broadcasting Station (PBS) kept her awake at night. No wonder Rachelle was often so harried and weary.
    
      Once laundry was done, Rachelle was dead tired and completely wiped out. After checking in on the twins, I scrubbed my hands, arms, and face again; the stench of vomit tended to cling no matter how much one cleaned. Freshly scrubbed, I made way to Rachelle's bedroom and found her in bed staring vacuously at the ceiling.
    
      "You okay there?" I sat by her bedside and touched her forehead. Her temperature felt normal, and I could sense she wasn't feeling woozy or ill.
    
      "I'm just tired." Rachelle threw me a weak smile. "Thank you, sugar."
    
      I grinned and clasped her hands between mine. My mocha-skinned mate was lovely even after the twins' birth. There was talk of having a Cesarean, but at the last minute, Rachelle toughed it out and squeezed out both girls with little trouble. Having worked my gift with Viktoriya, I was (barely) able to do it again with the mulatto. Thankfully, Melanie was there to calm her down; Rachelle tends to hyper-ventilate when she panics.
    
      We sat for some time looking into one another's eyes, enjoying the rest of our quiet evening. I stroked her brow and forehead, my fingers feeling the little bumps and ridges of her beautiful face. As I did, I felt a mild sense of unease within me.
    
      I hated myself for what I'd done to Rachelle, not merely all those years ago, but also for taking her in. I wondered if it would've been better to let Rachelle gone on her own way, let her find the happiness on her own instead of forcing all this on her.
    
      After we had reconciled (over the violent objections of my First), the mulatto and I gradually grew accustomed to one another once more. With a little persuasion, much of the old love we had was rekindled despite Janet's best efforts to snuff it out. Then before we knew it, the marriage came. In another blink of an eye, Rachelle had bore lovely twin girls. And yet, I dared to wonder about the possibilities.
    
      "What're thinking about?" Rachelle gave my hand a squeeze.
    
      "Nothing much." I managed a weak grin. "Should I be?"
    
      "I know that look." She stared at me with a knowing look. "You're thinking of something. That's what makes you so smart. You're like the Energizer Bunny of Brainiacs."
    
      It was my turn to laugh before I replied with, "Well, sometimes it's just nice to have peace and quiet, both in and out of my head."
    
      Rachelle nodded as I realized what I had just said was practically the truth. I watched her grab a little shut-eye and before we both knew it, she was snoozing contentedly. I tucked her in, gave her a warm kiss, and after checking on the twins once more, I headed downstairs back to my place before the sun rose.
    
      While Rachelle struggled, everyone did their part to help her. Aside from my beautiful darlings, I had another asset who helped immensely with the children. Shawn's mother, Laura, was still staying in the guest unit at the eco-condo (just across from Viktoriya's empty unit).
    
      She learned firsthand that her ex-husband had been both right and wrong: I was a polygamist, but I worked my ass off for that privilege (for what else could it be?). I also was there for the children and their mothers, and provided whatever I can. My personal habits were also exemplary by most Western standards.
    
      I had developed strict habits due to the peculiarities of my gift: I didn't drink (alcohol and telepathy were a bad mix), I didn't gamble (or if I did, I seldom lost), I never smoked (after I started noticing my gums and mouth bled from the toxic smoke; Viktoriya quit long ago and Rachelle stopped at the insistence of the others because it endangered the children's health), and the only carousing I did was mostly with the kids (or with their mothers behind closed doors).
    
      Then one night in late 2007, I ignored the strict boundaries I'd set and threw all my self-imposed discipline out the window.
    
    ===============================================================================
      CALIFORNICATION
    ===============================================================================
    
      Finals in "design studio" are a little different than the traditional lecture/lab finals. There are no blue books. There're materials one studied for, but there was also plenty of craftsmanship (for models and such) and presentation (for the presentation boards, etc.) as well as a little flair for flim-flam where one bullshitted the instructor to persuade him (or her) that what you just spent 12 weeks of your life on was worth the grade he (or she) was going to give.
    
      Of course, I always managed to be persuasive when I was student, but it was a wholly different experience when I was on the other side. Being a telepath didn't help, because I intrinsically scanned each student for their sincerity (it kept me in practice when I did interrogations for the agency). But how was I to translate that into a letter grade? I needed them to present and demonstrate their dedication for that, just like any 'normal'.
    
      I got some practice at City College's design courses, but I felt they were distinctly lacking in certain aspects. It was probably the student body. More than half were not serious or had no idea what they wanted to do. Half of the successes went on (I think in grave error) to the Academy of Art in San Francisco (AOASF) -- a private school that taught (or tried to teach) different aspects of design and techniques without any serious structure.
    
      While the AOASF was accredited in California, it didn't hold much esteem in my mind. I believed in a more traditional path in education; I found myself teaching undergraduate studio at my old alma mater, the University California at Berkeley. The student body there was a little better (and a little more focused) and I had quite a time toning down my expectations.
    
      I was assisting two senior instructors, so in a way I was doing assistant teaching again. However, fourteen years of this crap had indeed made me a more perceptive student-teacher. I leveled with the students on the first day of the course.
    
      "I know this is probably the first studio you'll have," I began slowly, "And it'll likely be your last if you're not serious about it."
    
      I studied them each in turn. "If you're horse-fucking around, or not totally sure you want to be in design, or have two or more other classes this semester, please do yourself and your GPA (grade point average) both a favor and drop the course NOW."
    
      Of course, no one dropped out. Not with the education system mandating every student must take twelve units of study to be considered "full-time" (this was for financial assistance for tuition). I cheated my way through college by being "gifted" and "persuasive" but it was still not a picnic for me. I could only guess how hard it was for a middling 'normal' (like Rachelle) being constantly under the gun to excel and perform.
    
      By the sixth week, the drop-outs were gone and only the desperate, the hangers-on, and the earnest students remained. I was a 30-something (specifically 32) college instructor; fairly young in most cases.
    
      Perhaps more exceptional was that I was a heterosexual man in a field that was roughly 80 percent homosexual and 20 percent "everything else". Male designers who wore starched shirts, ties, and slacks with sharp seams and WEREN'T gay were an endangered species in environmental design. Maybe it was the way I joked good-naturedly with the guys, or grinned at the girls, or simply asked -- to the point -- what each student had to contribute, but my section started getting popular.
    
      Out of pity, I even started to build my own version of the final project out of scraps and some materials I didn't need at DTE (I was able to write that off to the firm as a "charitable donation" hence making that a tax deduction for my bosses at Down-To-Earth). One of the other instructors asked me what the hell I was doing, competing with the students in the class.
    
      I simply shrugged and said, "Ideas should be free."
    
      I harbored that ideal notion, despite the fact much of the invisible empire was still hidden from me. I likened it to John Carmack's idea (one of DOOM's creators at ID Software) that information should be free. Carmack had been an advocate of a community where ideas were freely shared, as did I, to a point. His concept of the Internet was similar to how I viewed the benign parts of the empire.
    
      I suppose the only difference was that I actively combated parties I didn't like. Mr. Carmack likely never fired anything except his virtual weapons on a regular basis. Apart from what Cristobel hadn't told me, the only things I weren't wholly sure about was Tseng and his role as our network's supposed "leader" and whether or not he had killed Viktoriya's brother, Pyotr.
    
      But back to my studio: rather than simply sharing the ideas I had, I showed my students. While this was akin to opening a door to having them just copy my ideas, I gave them a quick lecture about incorporating the various attributes into their final project.
    
      "Use this stuff as a jumping off point," I warned, "Don't just copy it because it's simply from Graphics Standard**. Improve on it. I know you will all be able to make something better than what's here."
    
      [** Author's note: 'Graphics Standard' is a volume of facility and spatial drawings and measurements, updated annually, which architects and designers use in the United States. The newest editions included provisions for the American Disabilities Act.]
    
      "Age and wisdom are not substitutes for creativity and empathy for your facility's final inhabitants," I lectured, "Think of how you would use it. Think of how your family would too, as well as your friends."
    
      All this "chumminess" did pay off (especially since I nudged the most promising students in the right direction with my gift). Of the twenty or so students I had, they averaged about a dozen "A"s, and the rest came out with "B"s. When the final presentations were over, my section had the highest number of top-ranked students. I was proud not simply of myself, but of the work these kids put in. I gathered my group together and gave them a last bit of advice before I adjourned the final class.
    
      "Look, I know you guys and gals are all dying to take off for the holidays." I wore my trademark smile and placed a bag with some Kodak fun cameras on the table, "But before you do, take good snapshots of your projects. Keep all those pictures organized for your portfolio."
    
      "Your work can be in electronic form or an album but keep one," I went on preaching, "It may be a start for some of you, but I hope it will be a habit for all of you. Good luck!"
    
      I bid them all goodbye and even shook hands with a few (keeping my desires for some of the hotter girls in check). I ducked out to the office to file their grades, did some more last minute paperwork, checked in on my own projects at DTE, and decided to grab a quick bite to eat on the north side of campus instead of heading straight home. I knew Melanie would be eager to stuff us all until we're bloated. Her eight course meal during Zhung-Chou-zheet* [* Cantonese: Mid-Autumn Harvest Festival] gave me and Rachelle heartburn.
    
      The others (even Shawn from her days eating with Melanie and Janet) knew to eat in small portions (the kids were simply finicky, so they'd stop eating when they were full). I over-ate simply because Shawn's daughter Kady wouldn't eat unless I did.
    
      Being the persuasive little trouble-maker she was, Kady somehow got her other siblings to follow suit, giving my darlings new headaches and disciplinary issues. Leading by example for a half-dozen kids was no easy task. Now, if I could just feign fullness when I got home, I could get away without spending an hour crapping the meal I just ate. I was so engrossed with my domestic affairs that I hadn't noticed someone calling to me until I felt my arm was being pulled.
    
      "Oh hey-O!"
    
      I turned and came face to face with a pretty young girl. I immediately recognized her from the class I had just adjourned for the semester. I was so startled, I racked my brain for a name instead of quickly scanning her mind.
    
      "Miss Chae." I smiled thinly.
    
      Ah, there it was. I remembered her name. Rosalind Chae. She had that same bright, wide-eyed look Melanie had, but she was waaaaay the fuck younger (like borderline jail-bait). I remembered this young lady because she was one of the few freshman students who wrangled a spot in studio. Normally, studio was designed for juniors and seniors -- upperclassmen.
    
      However, she was suitably impressionable (that or I was interested in seeing how things would turn out) that I approved her adding the course despite the additional workload it implied. Rosalind did not disappoint; in fact, she impressed. She was one of those who got a "straight-A" grade in the class.
    
      I didn't mind fraternization with my students, but while I was friendly in class, I wasn't particularly interested in being bothered outside of it. Besides, I had six pieces of tail waiting for me at home (well, six once Viktoriya and I could see each other).
    
      "Where're you headed off to Mr. Chen?" she asked brightly.
    
      "Just dinner," I said slowly.
    
      Rosalind spooked me, I realized. Melanie, despite her short stature, ethnicity, and shared language was really nothing like the late, air-headed Aurora. But this little Asian spinner was nearly a dead ringer for my cousin.
    
      "Oh." Rosalind smiled sheepishly then asked, "Um, would you like some company?"
    
      "Sure why not." I smiled warmly as alarm bells sounded in my head.
    
      I sensed Rosalind's excitement as she uttered, "Great!"
    
      We made quiet chatter as we both waited for the crossing signal to change. While we did, I kicked myself for having a dick. Janet was going to kill me. I must be some kind of magnet for young women. I skimmed a bit deeper into Rosalind's mind and grew hot under the collar. Correction, my mind yammered as I collected more thoughts from Rosalind. Young women who were also star-struck groupies. What the fuck was I doing?
    
      "Los Compadres okay?"
    
      I earnestly hoped it wasn't. My hopes were dashed though, when she quickly agreed. We headed over to the place, only to find it had closed early. However, the pho (Vietnamese noodles) place next door was still open, so we went there instead. Rosalind was a sweet girl, but hardly shy.
    
      Her final project had won admiration from not only me but also from the other instructors and judges who attended (among them Gracia Kosugi) and gave insightful criticism. Much like Melanie, Rosalind had hair that reached her waist. She was as Aurora had been. I shuddered as old memories surfaced.
    
      I hadn't paid much attention to the appearance of my students, but I noticed Rosalind had a small piercing on her nose, in addition to the ones on her ears. Maybe she wasn't as innocent as I initially thought. I began some light thought-mining her just in case. I had enough of a bad experience with George Horten that I was leery of being close to anyone on a personal level. I found that she had known me long before I even taught, which was weird since I didn't remember ever meeting her.
    
      Fearing that I'd lose control and dig too deeply, I withdrew my focus and concentrated on the audible 'normal' conversation at hand. Rosalind and I talked as we leisurely ate. I revealed little apart from my work at DTE (Down-To-Earth) and my involvement with the (now termed) Solar-Wall being touted by Forrester-Duncan as the next new wave of wall (and curtain wall for skyscrapers) design.
    
      The little lady revealed a bit about herself, how she got into design, etc. It was all pretty boring but I feigned interest just the same (having so many wives, I had it down to a science).
    
      "So like, thank you Mr. Chen," she said as we stepped outside the restaurant.
    
      "Don't mention it." I managed a small grin.
    
      "No seriously," Rosalind said brightly and smiled back, "For like, dinner and everything. Are you going to teach next year?"
    
      "Seriously? I don't know." I shrugged but maintained my smile.
    
      "Oh." Rosalind smiled bravely, but I sensed she was disappointed with the answer.
    
      Well, my answer was the honest truth. While the Company (CIA) had been grabbing insurgents left and right for those of us at the Agency (NSA) to question, Tseng and I had been noticing a steadily rising wave of domestic unrest. For this we had no certain explanation, apart from the resentment of the growing casualty lists from overseas. Hence, NSA-PSI was tasked to do more and more interrogations against individuals suspected to be linked with domestic terror groups.
    
      I also noticed there were also more missions that were physical retrieval operations than "hands-off" surveillance. David leaked that shit to me after he'd be asked to grab Mirage a few times when resistance was a little more robust than expected. Of course, I got a bit more out of it than merely David's own words. I bet Millie would probably be less than thrilled that her husband David got a boner every time he put his hands on Phillipa. I had filed that little tidbit away for future use.
    
      In any case, discontent was evident to all but the most thoughtfully ignorant. Even the staunch early supporters of the war effort -- like Heidi (Rachelle's old cheer squad buddy) -- apparently had their fill. Moods change quickly if the "War on Terror" hit close to home. Heidi and her two daughters were some of its victims.
    
      Her husband Jon-Peter, an Army Ranger, had survived Bosnia (Operation Joint-Guard) and Afghanistan (when the United States officially started operations there in October 2001) only to be KIA when he went to Iraq as a security contractor in mid-2006.
    
      It was that incident, as well as that of Patrick Tillman's friendly fire incident, that made me think twice about being so gung-ho patriotic in a post-9/11 world. I knew for sure Janet was spooked by Tillman's death. It didn't matter to her if the DOD (Department of Defence) fucked-up his citation or the details of his death. Dead was dead, and Janet definitely felt uncomfortable. It didn't help that it was being blasted over the news nearly 24/7 for a period of weeks.
    
      This thing hit close to us for different reasons: for me, it was the fear of getting assigned to something that would force me to choose between following agency directives, or the empire's principal rules. For Janet, it was simply a matter of growing old. My lovely darling was just a year older than Tillman.
    
      In the days after the details of his life came out, Janet would being eagerly waiting for me when I paid her a visit. She was equally worried when I took private calls, for she assumed Cox and the agency contacted me by phone. I had to reassure Janet that I wasn't doing anything outside of the United States (at least not knowingly). She relaxed, as much as she could relax, after that.
    
      While money could be a powerful tool, explosives were too. Both things were highly indiscriminate when it came to doing their job. I realized I could handle money easily, but it was explosives I was nervous about. Despite my ability to "repel" certain substances, I wasn't able to telekinetically control the air. A concussion or airborne shockwave would've ruptured my insides. I wasn't stupid.
    
      Rachelle and I were at Jon-Peter's service when what was left of him got scraped into a paint can so it could be shipped State-side for burial. I found some new faces and very few old ones. Ghandia's current beau was a hawkish fellow in both his nose and his political leanings. When he made a comment about 'killing all those raghead bastards' to Heidi, Ghandia stood up and walked out.
    
      "What's her problem?" he asked.
    
      Rachelle took a visibily upset Heidi aside as I smiled acidly at the ignorant bastard. I escorted him away from the main function so as not to make a scene with the family or in front of Heidi's children.
    
      "Did you know Ghandia's first husband?" I asked the man plainly.
    
      "Yeah, she mentioned him once or twice." The dumbshit was bewildered. "Died in 9/11."
    
      "Yep." I nodded then asked, "And what else?"
    
      "What else?" he stared at me puzzled. "What do you mean, 'what else?'"
    
      I pinged his mind. He was so shallow, he hadn't even bothered to dig deeper. He was sure he had done something wrong, but couldn't figure out what. Nice. I made a mental note to talk with Ami and Rachelle about Ghandia's choice of men.
    
      "His name was Faraz." I watched his face. His expression remained unchanged until I began filling in the blanks Ghandia had omitted. It wasn't because she was ashamed of Faraz, but she buried it because it reminded her of a painful past. The look the outspoken man wore when I finished my tale was priceless.
    
      "He was Iraqi. Specifically, a Shia." I finished, "And he was our friend."
    
      He stood there mute and ashen-faced.
    
      "Good luck with the apology." I kept my tone casual. "I believe you'll need it."
    
      With that kind of simple-minded ugliness running amok in the 'normal' population's psyche, I knew NSA-PSI was likely going to pull me out of from my life to work over cases both domestically and internationally. I would definitely need the time to work with the agency in addition to my projects, spend time with my family, and learn some new hobbies.
    
      New hobbies? Why of course!
    
      All this while, I was still broadening my knowledge. I had taken up making Antediluvian flint knives and spear points after watching (and being fully impressed by) Mel Gibson's "Apocalypto". I found I was able to give Yu-Ching a run for her money when we had a little meat-carving contest. Little Chen was so impressed, she asked (er, demanded) a set of flint and obsidian blades for Christmas that year.
    
      Aside from going back and exploring the Stone Age, I was also boldly forging ahead. The caseless rounds I had stolen from the raid in Colombia gave me an idea to develop a "caseless cartridge" handgun. After three years of tinkering, I had developed a system that used a gas operated rotating breech system to load, fire, and clear (the fumes and heat from) caseless ammunition.
    
      The whole package fit into the palm of my hand. It was a unique (and almost steampunk) kind of weapon. The problem wasn't the gun though, it was the ammunition. I hadn't come from a strong chemistry background, and I wanted to use easily reloadable (and common) slugs for a caseless cartridge.
    
      As Tseng noted, I needed a method to neatly execute someone should the need arise and the method had to be a recognizable, 'normal' phenomenon. Until I was able to formulate and construct my own propellant and cartridge, I had a nice gun-shaped paperweight when the caseless ammunition was used up. Of course, there was also the little problem of forensic ballistics; those cartridges were one of a kind and using them meant discovery.
    
      I had begun tinkering with my gun to take in normal cartridges, the idea was that the spent shell would be collected when I worked the action. However, the design made the whole gun large and unwieldy.
    
      In any case, I figured that with so much work, Tseng would be called in as much as I to take off some of the load. However, I had been seeing less and less of the old Chinaman with the thinning hair. I wondered if my mentor was really retiring, or if he was just not showing up. He looked as if he could give it a few more years. The possibility he was up to something was just as likely.
    
      David was more than pleased that Tseng wasn't around. Regardless if everyone was present or not, with the amount of work I knew I was going to get myself involved with, I honestly thought it better if I took remote learning courses (like Janet). This way, I could work my hours at the firm, spend as much time with my family as possible, and learn new methods of killing 'normals' with what little time I could spare.
    
      But I digress ... back to Rosalind and me in December 2007. We were about to cross the street back into campus (I had to take the BART -- Bay Area Rapid Transit -- train back to the city unless I wanted to telekinetically levitate across the bay to get back home). Rosalind was still hitting on me and trying to perk my interest.
    
      "So, would like to come back to my place?" Rosalind did her best to sound alluring, "For some coffee I mean?"
    
      Coffee my ass, I thought. The girl was so nervous, she was practically about to shit herself trying to get down my pants.
    
      "Sure, I guess, if it's not a problem." I nodded slowly.
    
      "Oh, great!" Rosalind smiled, her voice a little nervous.
    
      I sensed her excitement build as soon as she heard my reply. I needed to play this hand adroitly or Viktoriya would know and leak the details to everyone. Still, my Russian minx wasn't a blabbermouth like Melanie. Besides, knowing Viktoriya's proclivities with other women, she might actually demand to be a part of the fun.
    
      Still, I wanted to err on the side of caution. I also wanted to try a new technique I had been experimenting with lately. It was something I called "selective memory". Essentially, I was compartmentalizing my experiences into small isolated portions of my mind.
    
      It was almost like consciously suppressing a memory but better because in "selecting" what I could remember, I didn't risk thinking of it when I was asleep or distracted. With this technique, Viktoriya wouldn't be able to read my mind like an open book.
    
      I sometimes wondered if that was what she'd done too. Perhaps she only remembered certain things to keep me ignorant about parts of her life. I shrugged it off. There was nothing I could do even if Viktoriya had done that. Of course, by using selective memory, I'd forget the experience. I wondered if it was a good idea to try this "Johnny Mnemonic" bullshit. It might cause me to forget who I am. Now THAT was a frightening thought.
    
      The curious may probably wonder why I was going to great lengths to hide what I was doing. One could argue the whole point of being a "mind-reader" or "mind-controller" was to bang the chicks (or dudes, whatever, I don't judge) and have the memory of that experience to relive as much as one wanted. Well, for one thing, people generally will remember what they've done.
    
      Only serious intervention of a normal's mind (irreversibly damaging it and the persona) can allow one of our kind to get a a person to do our bidding unwillingly. While it was true I had done some earnest mind-control, it was against banditos and coyotes down on the US-Mex border and Colombia. Even then, I stuck to passive methods to incite violence.
    
      I hadn't used blatant mind-control on anyone I didn't wish to seriously injure or kill. The permanent damage aside, I was also in a bind. Having a pack of wives at home, the last thing I wanted was to raise the ire of any of the women; not to mention the rage of my redoubtable First. I was sure this time, she'd definitely leave me.
    
      Still, I was a man. And if a pretty young (legal) girl wanted to pork your brains out, you should check your equipment (and your preferences) if you refused her offer.
    
      "So, you like, have a girlfriend?" Rosalind had a few cases of wine cooler in her fridge. She had gone through four bottles already and was a bit tipsy.
    
      "Do you have a boyfriend?" I countered gently. I was still on my first bottle and it was barely half empty.
    
      "B'fair!" she burped, "I ash'ked you fu'rst."
    
      Since I didn't consider the girls my girlfriends anymore, I answered, "No."
    
      Lying by omission of course, was a standard agency interrogation technique. So was twisting the meaning of words. I learned from the best at the NSA.
    
      "And you?" I pressed, "One question, one drink. Okay?"
    
      Rosalind grinned and nodded. I wondered if she'd feel the same way if she knew I was calculating how to zap her synapses to erase what I wanted, but leave the rest of her mind intact. I was also concentrating and placing all of what I was doing into a portion of my memory that was "short term".
    
      That'd mean I'd have no memory of this event after a few days, no matter how deep Viktoriya would dig. It was all very similar to what I had done to the Sin Titulo years ago, but far more refined.
    
      "No buff--boyfriend," Rosalind toyed with an empty bottle.
    
      I glanced at the clock. It was nearly 9:30. Today was supposedly "my day" (a day that I didn't have to spend any time with the girls unless I wanted to) but going home late wasn't really something I did unless the agency called me out.
    
      "You married?" she asked.
    
      "Of course." I spread my hands and smiled.
    
      "But you haven't a ring!" Rosalind sounded more annoyed than angry.
    
      "We don't put our trust in jewelry." I chuckled at her strong sense of righteousness. "Just each other."
    
      "Oooh, that's smarts!" She glanced hungrily at me, "And sweet. I wish I could get a guy like you."
    
      At that point, I was glad I was a telepath. Most normal guys (well the cool suave ones anyway) would be able to pounce on her line and get snagged by her wiles. Half of those guys would probably be okay with what she was doing, the other half probably not so much. I knew from actual experience that few would've been able to afford it. Rosalind was trying to _solicit_ me for sex.
    
      Now, I didn't mind sex. I wouldn't mind even paying for it (because all those bills at the eco-condo were paid with actual money and not Monopoly money). But to actually pare down the relationship to its most basic form was a mild shock; I'd never paid for sex before (and Jamie didn't count -- prostituting herself for the sake of her child was very noble and I gladly took her into my household) nor did I anticipate doing any more screwing around after the children were born.
    
      My girls were happy. I was happy. Heck, even the kids were happy (they'd better be considering all the time, toys, and teaching the seven of us vested in them). However, the current situation called to me. Aside from Rosalind's implicit solicitation, I also picked up other thoughts that made me reconsider the whole thing in a different light: 'Damn, he's fine.' 'I feel bad for him though, pressuring him like this.' 'But damn it, I need money.' 'Stupid school fees are so high.'
    
      Wow, I thought. Were things this bad now? My youngest darling Melanie had been out of school for some time, and Rachelle had just finished her three year vocational earlier in the year. Of course, with my backing, none of my girls really had much of a problem with tuition and living expenses. Janet and I both made well over a quarter million now (and some of my income was augmented by special assignments) so we never felt a crunch.
    
      Of course, being the archetypical parsimonious Asians helped too. Janet's car was the same one she had back in college: a 1989 Toyota Camry. My own car was even older: a 1985 Toyota Corolla (both of our parents loved Toyota's reliability records back in the 80s and early 90s; the company can thank Consumer Reports for that). My dad transferred it to me when I was old enough to drive.
    
      The other girls weren't slacking either. Shawn's income from Forrester-Duncan brought the family haul even higher. The only thing that stopped us from joint filing like that was it would be criminal (it was only evidence of bigamy) but also highly unfair to other non-polygynandrous families who didn't have as many deductions.
    
      In any case, Shawn was still flush with a lot of dough she kept stock-piling either into her 401K or treasury bills. Since my plump pumpkin could only deduct herself and that stubborn daughter of ours, I suggested that she should plunk down some dough on a small place for her mom (since Laura couldn't live with us forever). We did some shopping around and Shawn bought her mom a small place in the Alamo Square Historic District shortly after Kady was born (in 2005).
    
      With a little help from my persuasion, I managed to ease the loan officer into the deal. Hell, I eased the home's seller to settle it for far less than three-quarters million due to the place's dilapidation (which isn't a problem since Shawn and I were in the building business). All this, combined with the other girl's incomes, meant our family lived quite comfortably.
    
      It hadn't occurred to me that other people weren't as lucky as we were. I put my hand on Rosalind's and squeezed. I couldn't believe I was jumping in with both feet into this mess. I definitely needed to re-think about applying "selective memory" now.
    
      "You're cute," I controlled my tone of voice carefully. "I can't believe you don't have a boyfriend."
    
      "Aw, that's sweet." Rosalind smiled but eyed me warily. "But what about your wife?"
    
      "She doesn't have to know." I lied.
    
      Well, Viktoriya might if I didn't forget this after a few hours. Thankfully, my Russian bride and I had our mind-meld earlier that day. I knew she was out partying with Freya tonight. Despite her offer to watch her lez-out with a blonde rhythmic gymnast, I wanted to do other things that night; too bad I didn't know I was going to do one of my students.
    
      "I see." Rosalind's tone quickly became cool, "Just for the record though, do you have money?"
    
      "Money?" I feigned mild shock, "Wait, you mean you're --?!"
    
      "Don't say that!" Rosalind blurted suddenly. "I mean it's just that studio was expensive, y'know?"
    
      "Yeah," I nodded as I replied, "Studio always is and always will be."
      
      "I mean, I'm not a hooker," she said flatly, "I just--!!"
    
      "Okay, calm down now." I stroked her hand gently. "Want to tell me about it?"
    
      Rosalind swallowed and recited verbally what I already knew from skimming her mind. She was a student, born from Korean parents. Since she was one of four kids, her parents were hard pressed to put them all through school. Rosalind was lucky that she got accepted into the University of California. She was something of a party girl; however, she managed to hang on and get herself together and focus on tasks (unlike Rachelle).
    
      "So that's my story," Rosalind said sheepishly, "You must think I'm awful, tricking you like this."
    
      I grinned at her choice of words. Trick indeed, I thought. Well, I was willing to try anything once if it wasn't physically dangerous. I could tolerate her for a little while.
    
      "I don't mind," I said.
    
      "Really?" Rosalind smiled wanly and purred, "I mean I'm being honest -- this is the first time I've tried this!"
    
      "Really, I don't mind." I stroked her arm, "And don't worry about it."
    
      As she felt a thin trickle of my mental broadcast, she blushed crimson.
    
      "Officially, you're no longer my student," I said, "So whatever we do now is fine."
    
      "Oh, okay. Great." Rosalind visibly relaxed, "So like how much you have on you?"
    
      "Not much," I said. I only carried spare change for emergencies like the kids or my darlings getting into some sort of horrific accident and I'd pay out of my nose to keep them alive and well. I dug out my wallet and sifted through the bills I had. Rosalind's eyes grew wide.
    
      "Holy moly," she gasped, "You carry around that much cash?"
    
      I glanced at her and realized that 'spare change' for me was probably a lot of money to a starving student. I chuckled.
    
      "Too much?"
    
      "Oh, I didn't mean to sound greedy." Rosalind's eyes never left my wallet.
    
      Of course not you little gold-digger, I thought as I counted out five hundred dollar bills. That still left me enough to buy her body a half-dozen times over.
    
      "Wow, thanks!" She gingerly took the money into her trembling hands as I stood up. "Er, wait! Where're you going?"
    
      "I'm just going to wash up," I said, "Put that away, okay sweetheart?"
    
      "Sure thing."
    
      She visibly blushed at the turn of phrase. Well, it _was_ kinda kinky; like I was her father or something. Or a sugar daddy. I laughed inwardly at the thought. I headed to the restroom and washed my hands and face. I stared at the man in the mirror. I hadn't done that in quite some time. The young cocky teenager who had been bagging (and banging) a handful of girls way back in the last century was now a hard-faced, thirty-something Chinaman.
    
      I was in good form, having worked out a telekinetic 'resistance training' into my regimen. Originally, I did so because the people at Rossi pool were becoming more annoying and less pleasant, but it was chiefly because Shawn no longer cared to go there, leaving me rather lonely. Her increased workload (and the kids) demanded that she increase her time at home or at the office.
    
      So, my buxom Anglo-angel made the best of things; she traded "parent-time" with Janet so she could wade in her pool while watching Michael, Milhail, and Kady as soon as the little imp learned to walk. This let Shawn keep her pudginess to a minimum, although she eventually skipped the pool once cold weather arrived.
    
      I on the other hand, went a different route. I needed to practice more telekinesis on the human body to know how much force was too much. By now, I knew I could easily pierce several centimeters of reinforced steel and concrete; however, I was more interested in the thresholds of telekinesis to safely restrain people.
    
      Not having many choices, I used myself as the guinea pig (although I was very careful throughout the process). Eventually, I had designed my physical regimen around 'pushing' against myself with my own telekinesis. In an odd way, I was getting a double work-out; I was training my mind and my body at the same time.
    
      While I didn't need hardened thigh and calf muscles for physical running (TK-skating was faster), I did enjoy the concentration required to hook myself upside-down and attempt to curl my upper body forwards and upwards (or vice versa), or by balancing on the back of a kitchen chair with one hand. While I helped myself with a little "mind-lift", this also meant I had a fairly firm body. I wasn't portly, nor did I have a male-model's build, but I didn't have a lot of excess fat.
    
      I examined my face closely. Crow's feet were around my eyes and there was some slight bruising -- bags -- under them from a mild lack of sleep. I had shaved that morning, so there was only a faint shadow on my chin and lips. I spotted a stack of razors in the bathroom and swiped one for myself. I was sure as poor as Rosalind was, she could afford the nickel for a new disposable razor. I primed my face smooth for what I was about to do and studied the reflected image some more.
    
      My hairline wasn't receding, or it hadn't yet; I was most anxious about that if only for different reasons. The man I called my father all my life had a full head of hair, although his was streaked with white now that he was approaching his sixties. Tseng though, was balding but appeared to be younger. I knew male pattern baldness was hereditary. Part of me was dying to know the truth about my mentor's personal interest in me, and I feared the day when I'd find my answer.
    
      "Oh hey." Rosalind knocked on the door but didn't come in, "So um, like you want me to come out now or what?"
    
      I considered her offer briefly before I opted for something else.
    
      "Grab a towel for me would you?" I rinsed the razor and wrapped it in a paper towel. I'd probably take it home or get rid of it later.
    
      "Er, okay," she replied. "Just'a minute."
    
      I heard her shuffle away from the restroom, I opened the door and pinged lightly as not to be detected. Five of my six lovelies were home in the "City by the Bay", as were the children. Rachelle and Jamie were messing around with a new version of video software (Jamie found that she enjoyed homemade porn -- something Viktoriya would find they had common interest later) while Shawn was watching Jillian play dress up with her four younger sisters.
    
      A few floors above, Melanie and Mother Benton were trying to teach our oldest boys Michael and Milhail how to cook some midnight munchies: macaroni and luncheon meat with sweet peas. In the living room, Janet paced around with little Norman in her arms while her own son Frederick clamored for attention and begged his mother for a chance to hold the baby.
    
      In other words, it was all normal. I relaxed, knowing my family was safe and preoccupied. I shifted focus a bit and zipped to New York City.
    
      I picked up Viktoriya's rapid mile-a-minute train of thought as Freya eagerly fucked her with a double-ended vibrating strap-on. Viktoriya's legs were splayed apart by Freya's weight and my bisexual Baltic beauty was fixated on her "friend's" perky breasts while she was being dyke-fucked. Well, at least she's having fun. Now, I guess I can have mine with a nubile young hottie in relative peace. Rosalind snapped me from my mental reverie when she pressed a fluffy blue towel into my hands.
    
      "So, what's your first name?" She stopped and coughed lightly, "Or do you just prefer Mr. Chen?"
    
      "Stan." I grinned and extended my hand. "Funny name, huh?"
    
      "Oh no." Rosalind managed to grin and suppress a giggle. "It's a classic name. Guys are like all 'Theo' or 'Justin' or 'Matt' now."
    
      "I'm a classic," I eyed her hungrily. "You sure you're okay with this?"
    
      "Yeah sure," Rosalind nodded, "So, like, what do you wanna do?"
    
      I sensed her hesitation, and it wasn't just the mind-scan that gave me the story. I felt it; she hadn't done this before. I also sensed Rosalind was infatuated with me, but I hadn't realized why for the life of me. I needed to dig a bit deeper if I wanted to know, but I hazarded a guess that it was something akin to puppy love. What a foolish little girl.
    
      "Why don't we take a bath?" I pulled her gently towards me, "Get cleaned up and chat a bit more?"
    
      "Oh, yeah." Rosalind was hesitant but smiled nervously. "Sure."
    
      We undressed slowly as the tub filled up. She wound her hair into a coil and snapped a shower cap over it. That was odd. For a moment there, she reminded me of Yu-Ching.
    
      "Hope you don't mind, but I washed it all this morning," she said, "Hate to let it dry on a night like this."
    
      "Ah don't worry," I started, "Yuu--" I stopped myself before I named names. "I know what you mean."
    
      She looked at me curiously. "You do?"
    
      "It takes about an hour or so to dry," I said and remembered Melanie's long locks of hair.
    
      "Wow," Rosalind was impressed, "So you like, know every woman's secret or what?"
    
      "C'mere," I drew her close, "Let's find out."
    
      My former student tip-toed closer and gingerly sat on my lap. I kissed her lightly and felt my body react naturally to her touch. Compared to my experienced darlings though, Rosalind was rather tepid. As I caressed and squeezed her tender body, I realized that it was her inexperience rather than lack of enthusiasm which made her less attractive.
    
      After some awkward kissing, I bade her to take a dip. We both scrubbed in the tub and soaked for nearly a quarter hour as the water cooled down. I used that opportunity to press my body against hers to get both of our psyches in harmony. Rosalind sighed as I rubbed her arms and nuzzled her neck. She leaned back against my body as I gently kissed her cheeks and shoulders.
    
      "Feel good?" I asked softly.
    
      "Hmm, yeah," Rosalind turned her head and kissed me.
    
      Nude, I saw my innocent looking student still wore her decorations from her party going ways. Beside her nose piercing, Rosalind had her nipple rings and a shiny button gem on her naval. I knew Jamie once had a naval piercing a long time ago; she told me about it when I asked her about the scar. My sultry Asian siren had it removed when she had Jillian (it's embarrassing to have that shiny dangling thing with a distended belly) and kept her tattoos tasteful.
    
      Seeing Rosalind so devalue her own body, I felt more than glad to forget the whole mess after tonight. Once we rinsed, the two of us toweled dry before Rosalind led me to her bedroom. I lay down, eager to spoon her when she hunched over my cock.
    
      "What the--?" I stopped and winced as I remembered how some girls thought giving head was "only natural" when pleasing a man.
    
      Rachelle and Viktoriya gave great head, and that was only because my Slavic siren would tickle my asshole with her telekinesis while she did. Rachelle though, was utterly shameless when it came to gobbling cock. She enjoyed swallowing my meat whole (balls and all) and seemed to get off on gagging (that was what probably suggested to Craig she was a bit on the submissive side). However, I never really enjoyed getting head. I disliked the chill of the girl's spit or the messy clean-up afterwards.
    
      I liked Janet's method the best: body warm veggie oil, saran wrap, and a hearty dive right into a moist cooze. Melanie and Shawn understood, and neither minded my finicky love-making. Of late, I only made exceptions for Jamie. She liked it because she enjoyed having her teeth right there. Like my plump dumpling, Jamie developed into a biter; she had been directing her efforts on my rock hard cock the past few years and I certainly didn't mind it.
    
      Rosalind's technique was pretty simple, if boring. She slid her mouth over my schlong but I felt little enjoyment. She didn't know how to tease a man apart from taking him into her mouth. From the thoughts I'd gathered, I wagered she was a virgin, and her technical display more or less removed all doubt.
    
      She was on all fours, curled with her head towards me and her ass nowhere near my face. It was great for giving head, but I could care less. I wanted some pussy and I was going to get some. Rosalind gave a horrified squeak as I grabbed her and flipped her around. She calmed down though, when she realized I wanted to "sixty-nine" her. I spread her butt cheeks wide and buried my face into her shaven cunt.
    
      "Mwhaa!" Rosalind cried out as I tongued her clit and squeezed her soft ass.
    
      Extending a bit of focus, I gently began rolling her insides with telekinesis. The results were immediate and rather dramatic. A thin clear gush of pee and cum sprayed from Rosalind's cunt onto my face as she came in an uncontrolled upsurge of pleasure. Rosalind moaned softly as her body tensed up from the feeling.
    
      "Ooogh!" She shivered as she sighed with delight.
    
      Wow, I thought as I tasted her musky juices. She was pretty backed up in there. I snurbed her pussy and knew that the tingly sensation that Rosalind felt wasn't simply from the rockin' orgasm she just had, but from my mild mental broadcast. I wanted to fuck her brains out and she suspected it. I sucked and tongued her sweet slice, and relished in the fresh taste of teenage cum.
    
      By now, Rosalind had stopped sucking my cock. She was so thoroughly enjoying the warm, fuzzy feeling of my face-fucking, she only held my semi-rigid staff with a loose grip. However, her juices were definitely arousing. My dick was hard and it needed attention. I reached down with a free hand and shoved it into her face. Rosalind got the idea and began sucking me off once more.
    
      We continued for a time before I changed positions. I spooned her like a love doll and played with her small perky titties and little pea-sized clit. Because I could "roll" the telekinesis at will, my hands were free to touch, grope, fondle, or otherwise molest different parts of her tight, young body. I toyed with her piercings and found the parts of her which were sensitive.
    
      "Here do it this way," I flipped Rosalind onto her back and pulled her close.
    
      "What? You want to do it missionary style?"
    
      "Yeah," I said quickly.
    
      Rosalind handed me a condom as I sat on my haunches. I unwrapped the little latex disc and pulled it over my erect cock.
    
      "A little large don't you think?" I knitted my brow. The condom was made for Mandingo, not Charlie Chan.
    
      "Sorry," Rosalind murmured, "I was in a hurry. I didn't know, y'know?"
    
      I was able to easily grab a large swath of the condom, despite its slick artificial oils. It was going to slip right off.
    
      "Well this won't do," I said. "You have food wrapping here?"
    
      "You mean like Cling Wrap?"
    
      I nodded but my former student shook her head, "That stuff won't do. It's too thin!"
    
      Says you woman, I thought darkly. Janet and were fine fucking like that before you were born. Still, Rosalind had a point. While wrap was fun and all, it could easily break, and  a pregnancy from this would be ... disastrous.
    
      "Well. How 'bout a rubber band? One of the small ones?" I suggested.
    
      Rosalind thought a bit, hopped off the bed and came back with a small thin rubber band. Its diameter was about that of my thumb. Perfect. I snapped it (painfully) over the base of the condom. Rosalind bit her lip gently as a smirk crossed her face.
    
      "Cool." She lay down and spread her legs apart.
    
      I leaned over her and thwapped her shaven cooze with my wrapped cock. Rosalind sighed and I pushed into her slowly. She grimaced a bit. Like with Aurora and Melanie, I went slow. Virgins were not my idea of a swell time. They earnestly took too much work to get accustomed to. I felt Rosalind's cunt relax as she acclimatized herself to having me in her.
    
      Once I knew she was comfortable, I began moving. The little Korean girl's face went slack as her lips parted slightly. Her breaths came out in shallow bursts as I pumped her slowly and rhythmically. Rosalind put a palm on my shoulder and traced her delicate fingers over my chest as I fucked her.
    
      Her eyes swam over me as I concentrated on getting off. Like Aurora, Rosalind was a convenient piece of meat. Not quite the meal at home, but a handy sweet treat right before the main course. As I came close to unloading, I slowed down my thrusting. I stopped just short of cumming.
    
      "What's wrong?" Rosalind blinked in surprise. "Is it something I did?"
    
      "No." I shook my head and rolled her atop me. "Give it your best shot. I'll stay hard for you."
    
      "What?" She gave me a confused look, then slowly realized what I was asking her to do. "Oh. Okay. Just -- you -- ungh."
    
      Rosalind straddled me and bounced her ass over my rigid fuckstick. She leaned over on all fours and I could see her face contort into beautiful agony as I 'rolled' her insides with a mixture of telekinesis and my physical cock.
    
      "Ugh--ungh--fuck!!" Rosalind closed her eyes and gripped me tightly by the shoulders as she began slamming herself down on my erect unyielding dick at an ever faster pace.
    
      "Feels good huh?" I scraped and scratched her back gently as she moved her hips so forcefully, the bed began shaking.
    
      The skinny girl barely heard me as she came a second time, her quim rippling as she squeezed my hardened joystick. She was unable to form coherent words as a torrent of Korean and English curse words poured from her throat. My former student opened her eyes, saw my saucy grin, and smiled bashfully.
    
      "Did you cum yet?" she asked shyly.
    
      I shook my head and her eyes grew wide.
    
      "I think you've got a few more left in you, sweetheart." I kissed her gently. "Let it out. I'll wait."
    
      To entice her, I grabbed her ass and pressed my hips against hers while 'rolling' my telekinesis a bit. To Rosalind, it felt like my dick was this unimaginably thick, massive fuckstick which was custom made just to fit and pleasure her body.
    
      "Oh god," she gasped, spit and tears covering her face, "Oh my god."
    
      I bit her bare shoulders gently as I slowly fingered her puckered little asshole. Incredibly, Rosalind cried out again and came a third time. Jesus Christ, I thought; she was a sensitive little slut. She kissed me savagely, biting my lips, tongue and mouth. I slowly began thrusting her on my own accord and Rosalind swooned from the sheer amount of pleasure I was giving her.
    
      "Feels good," Rosalind panted breathlessly, "So good -- ungh!"
    
      She tensed up, her cooze gripping my shaft and came yet again. By now, I could smell her sweet sex scent filling the whole room, soiling the sheets, and splashed all over my thighs. Rosalind collapsed breathless on top of me, my hard-on still erect and deep inside her. After a few minutes, I picked her up and put her on her back. Her eyes went wide as she realized I was still hard.
    
      "Y--you're incredible!" she exclaimed with disbelief.
    
      "So are you." I murmured and licked her lips tenderly.
    
      I moved slow and rolled her G-spot with telekinesis as I smashed her tiny cunt. I parlayed my twenty years of expertise into an incredible experience that Rosalind wouldn't soon forget. Apparently, I didn't want to forget it either. So, I shuttered the whole thing into a small part of me, and kept it hidden as about as far away as I could do it.
    
      I "locked" it, with a note, a number. It would be an interesting experiment, seeing which of my psionic hotties -- my Ukrainian beauty or my dear Lady Chen -- will pick up on this first. It was a risk I was willing to take, for the sake of exploring my gift ...
    
      In the meantime, the girl under me was being pummeled like she'd never been before. Her eyes were glazed, her mouth open, but hardly any sound came out. Just about when Rosalind thought she couldn't stand the building wave of pleasure anymore, I mind-zapped her where it counted (just weakly).
    
      She suddenly cried out as a crescendo of climaxes wracked her body. As she writhed and trembled under me, I grunted and shot a massive load of love scuzz into the waiting receptacle. I rolled her atop me as we both struggled for breath.
    
      Since neither of us were drowsy, we talked a bit more. I revealed my love of seeking out new experiences and learning (though I didn't reveal the more doubtful topics like chemistry for explosives and bombs). In turn, Rosalind filled me in on how her parents (particularly her mother) guided her into design. What really perked me up was when she mentioned she had met me before. Not at school, but long before that.
    
      "I have?" I was mildly surprised.
    
      "Yeah." Rosalind blushed coyly as she ran her fingertips over my brow and face, "My mom worked at Ferguson Graphics."
    
      "Oh yeah?" I grinned, "That's some time ago."
    
      "Mhm--hmm." She traced a line down my face, as if she wanted to remember it. "I saw you when I came in on Bring-Your-Daughter to work day."
    
      "Oh." I knitted my brow. Now, THAT was some time ago. I ran through my list of old co-workers but no one seemed to ring a bell, so I began fishing Rosalind's memories.
    
      "You probably don't remember," she murmured, "I was like eleven."
    
      Holy shit. Now I DID remember, if only dimly. There was a pretty Korean woman (whose named escaped me) in the old Ferguson office who was there when I started. I barely remembered anything about her save that she had family in the South Bay and she commuted about an hour on the Caltrain to get to the city. Comparing my fuzzy memories with Rosalind's story more or less confirmed my suspicion. I gave the sweet young thing a good look over.
    
      I was practically robbing the goddamned proverbial cradle. My heart skipped a beat at the thought. She was even younger than Phillipa Roget. At least Mirage was born during the Reagan Administration. As I sat wondering if Rosalind was born before or after the Berlin Wall fell, I sensed her apprehension as she kissed the side of my neck. I groaned as my body shivered reflexively with delight, and hated myself for liking it.
    
      "Sorry it had to be like this," the Korean teenager murmured, "School's just so expensive."
    
      "Don't remind me," I said dourly.
    
      I had paid off my student loans easily once I started working. Andrew though, still had a ways to go. My problem was that in helping him, I'd leak out my activities on the border. My family didn't need to know any of that. Still, I made the occasional $300 deposit into his account, and told him it was from the deli franchise, then told him to shut up and study. It helped somewhat.
    
      "So, like, would you wanna do this again?" Rosalind's fingers grazed my forehead.
    
      To forestall her disappointment, I replied without hesitation. "Yeah sure."
    
      So we parted that night on good terms. I called her up again when she was with her family in San Jose and arranged to meet her for a torrid evening of dinner, clubbing, and fucking. After drilling her a second time at a posh hotel near the San Jose Airport, I sensed what Rosalind wanted most with what I knew she needed: love and money (respectively).
    
      I had to admit, the sex with Rosalind wasn't all that bad. It was just a bit creepy. She was fourteen years my junior; nearly double the age gap that Melanie and I had. As fun as it was, I was worried how much trouble I'd get into if any of my darlings found out. Still, I couldn't ignore Rosalind's potential.
    
      She was talented (in an architectural design) and it'd be a waste to squander her skills. Besides, I suspected that if she was willing to prostitute herself, she'd get into some sort of trouble sooner rather than later. And it would be the same sort of trouble that Jamie got herself into when she was younger. It would be wrong to ignore such promise, I argued to myself.
    
      "So, here's the thing." I took her to a bar and grill after our latest fuck session, "Let's make an arrangement."
    
      "What kind of arrangement?" Rosalind looked at me warily as we sat in the booth.
    
      "I don't mind us hanging around for a while," I measured my words with care, "But you know this isn't long-term."
    
      Rosalind nodded and did her best to keep smiling. I gave her arm an encouraging squeeze.
    
      "You're a good designer," I said, "Or you have that potential to be. I don't want you getting mixed up into anything crazy. So how about this ..."
    
      To Rosalind, I proposed a very straight-forward and practical solution. For a monthly stipend of a hundred bucks a day (essentially $3000 USD a month), she was to keep her nose out of trouble, her eyes on her books and academics, and to forget about money until she finished her undergraduate courses. Rosalind's face positively glowed when she heard what I was going to do.
    
      "Are you sure?" she asked pensively, "I mean, won't you get in trouble or something?"
    
      "You let me worry about that," I slipped her an envelope of clean bills of hundreds. "You worry about your studies."
    
      With that 'other thing' (Red Rock) I was busy with, the family and kids, I was earnestly stretching things. Luckily business at NSA-PSI had been so brutally busy, I had nearly quadrupled the money I'd accumulated before the marriage. Tseng and I also found a few weekends to do follow-up hits on La Corporacion in their expansion operations in Riohacha, Santa Marta, and Barranquilla.
    
      I suspected the agency knew what Tseng was doing, or he had cut a deal with them, and the DEA (Drug Enforcement Agency) certainly didn't mind an independent contractor 'settling things' for the price of a song. Of course, what we actually took vastly dwarfed the nominal 'fee' we were charging American taxpayers (and you people should be glad for it).
    
      Another reason why we were on call almost every other day was due to David Reese's talent. When he could displace operatives where they were needed in a blink of an eye, the time required for pre-briefing was virtually restricted to a pick-up time, location, and a brief chat of what to expect.
    
      By now, I had earnestly hoped Ghost Light would drop out of sight, meet some unfortunate "accident" (preferably displacing into solid matter or something), or otherwise leave me alone. However, despite all my efforts to distance myself, the guy talked incessantly when he and I were working together. I gathered he had no close friends, just his wife Millie.
    
      And I had the means to live lavishly, but I didn't. Instead I lived within what means I reported to the tax collectors. While most of it was ear-marked to be laundered or for family emergencies, it still left me with more than enough spare change than I could legally spend. I couldn't just plop it in front of my darlings; that was a sure way for the IRS to dig into the family.
    
      So, I had to be careful with it. Now, what better use for it than spending it on a struggling girl in the dawn of her prime?
    
      Rosalind counted the money and then looked at me with suspicion. "So, what am I now? Your mistress?"
    
      I didn't like the term, but I kept my grin up. I sensed she had other questions too, like could she see other people.
    
      "I don't think of you as --" I lowered my voice "-- a mistress. I'm not here to control your life Rose. Do what you want. I just don't want to see you squandering your time trying to make ends meet instead of devoting your time to the craft."
    
      We ate quietly when our meals came. She poked the bits of her food she didn't eat. As a matter of practice, I cleaned off my plate as efficiently as possible. I sat patiently with a glass of water and waited while she finished her meal.
    
      "Why me Stan?" Rosalind finally asked, "What makes me special?"
    
      We had pared our names down to single syllables. As an exercise in memory, it helped me avoid any mistakes when I spoke with my own family.
    
      "Because you have potential." I passed her a pleasant smile. At least I was more honest than Tseng.
    
      "You think so?" Rosalind grew thoughtful. "I never imagined my first love would be my sugar daddy one day."
    
      "First love?" I chuckled and peered at her over the top of my glass. "Do tell."
    
      "Don't be like that." She gave me a surly grin, "I'll be honest. You're the first guy I fell in love with. I even wanted to give you a Valentine's Day card, but I got scared 'cause of my mom. I still have it!"
    
      I was slightly taken aback. "Weren't you a little young to be sending out Valentine's Day cards to grown men in sixth grade?"
    
      "You're like the coolest guy I ever met." Rosalind laughed, "And you have that effect on girls, you know?"
    
      No, I tacitly corrected. I'm the richest guy you've met so far and I could make you cum at will. I gave her a wry grin before I replied.
    
      "News to me."
    
      "The girls in studio all had the hots for you too." She lowered her voice a bit. "Some of the guys too."
    
      "Now you're just flattering," I replied while wearing a genial smile.
    
      "No it's true!" Rosalind's face brightened, "You're like the best design teacher they had."
    
      "Well, that's good to know."
    
      I knew I wouldn't be teaching for a while. As I mentioned before, the agency kept NSA-PSI busy with tasks not just in the Middle East and Africa, but also hitherto "medium risk" regions like South America, Central America, and -- of all places -- North America. People were discontent for one reason or another, and the United States was being every other countries' favorite (non-nuclear) whipping boy.
    
      The invisible empire wouldn't care too much if America became a hell-hole, but I did. I lived here, as did my darlings and my children. They were all under my protection, hence it became the invisible empire's problem when I thought anyone of them were threatened. The next year was going to be a busy one indeed.
    
    ===============================================================================
      ISLAND OF DREAMS
    ===============================================================================
    
      Oh, I should reveal more about that 'other' project I had, Red Rock. Despite what one may think, Rosalind was actually more of a hobby than a project. Aside from the opposite sex, I often had to make time for that one love which earned my keep: architecture.
    
      Rosalind was a fun hobby, and as long as she didn't get too rapacious or intrude too deeply into my life, I was content with checking in on her once a month then putting her away after I was done playing with her.
    
      When I was busy, I would only drop by and review what courses and materials she had been studying. I'd do my best to bring out Rosalind's curiosity and passion to learn, and made modest suggestions when she felt aggravated or stuck. I celebrated her success, and did my best to help her analyze her failures. But my personal project was something much more ambitious than a mere girl. When completed, it would put my eco-condo on 43rd Avenue to shame.
    
      The Red Rock project started back in 2005. At first, it was supposed to be a simple little thing. As the days and weeks and months went on though, I obsessed with it more and more. It eventually took on a life of its own and commanded nearly as much time for its financing, design, construction, hood-winking the property assessors' office, and keeping it all a secret from my family.
    
      It was also the closest thing to making myself a visible target; something Tseng certainly frowned upon. I didn't care though, it was one of those things that I knew I wanted to do, just so I'd know I could.
    
      My pet project was literally an island. I had first heard of the place after the bigamy case was dismissed. Taking my considerate Lady Wu's suggestion, I took Shawn and her mother Laura for a short weekend getaway on the bed and breakfast inn on East Brother Island. The hotel (and the island it was on) was part of the state park system but the place was run by a dedicated private staff.
    
      That weekend was good for Shawn and me (I think that's where that roll of saran wrap I brought along got all mucked up in the travel bag and I got her pregnant) and at best, relaxing for Mother Benton. The island was just off the coast of San Pablo point in the bay, but it seemed more isolated once the fog rolled in. On our way back home, I overheard from the boat's skipper that there was a privately owned island in the area, and it was undeveloped.
    
      The place was called Red Rock Island, and it sat in a spot where three counties intersected: San Francisco, Contra Costa, and Marin. First purchased in the 1920s, it was sold to different people at different times. All them had big ideas, or were land speculators, or both. The latest owner was some gem trader originally from San Francisco, but who lived in Thailand with his wife.
    
      It was early 2005 when I put out some feelers. There was no asking price but I wagered the sale price would've gone up appreciably. The guy had tried to sell it to California Fish and Game, but it was 2001; the dot-com bust had just occurred and the state was in dire financial straits already (California always seems to be). So the guy just sat on it.
    
      Red Rock was only 500 by 750 feet (a shade less than six acres and erosion would reduce that in a few years), or roughly about 70 percent the diameter of the man-made Strawberry Hill in Golden Gate park.
    
      I didn't want to charter a boat to see the place, nor did I want to risk detection by levitating out there. I simply grabbed a copy of a map from county records, and eyeballed the measurements from the Richmond-side bridgehead using some binoculars. Apart from its unspoiled virginity, the island was also obnoxiously close to one of the many bridges that criss-crossed the San Francisco Bay Area (the Richmond-San Rafael Bridge). Lastly, Red Rock had a tendency to attract trouble-making trespassers from the Richmond** Marina. [** Author's Note: The city of Richmond in California. It shared the name of the San Francisco district where most of my darlings and I grew up in.]
    
      Still, it was something unique and I wanted to do something with it. As a matter of luck, I managed to catch up with Galen and Kari when the three of us were in Africa (I was on an agency assignment and they were on vacation). They suggested that I trade some gemstones for the island. It might work; the owner being a gem trader and all. Galen suggested that I come visit them and they'd "help" with my problem.
    
      The "help" they had in mind was apparently a series of trades in eastern Angola and the Katanga region (of what was Zaire) that extended into Zambia. Armed mercenary training camps, funded by blood diamonds, were a source of ready buyers for the cut and processed drugs from our tasks in Colombia.
    
      Of course, Galen and Kari were simply bringing me along for the ride. I had already taken my share from La Corporacion and I wasn't there to do business. However, I found it profitable just the same. With a little persuasion and some light telekinesis, I managed to swipe a few of the largest uncut (and as yet unexamined) rocks while no one was looking.
    
      With a sackful of these stones, I flew to Thailand to meet Red Rock's owner to cut a deal. He had originally bought the damn thing for about $50,000 USD in the mid 1960s. At first he tried to brush me off, but then I pulled out the first of my hidden aces: a quarter of the blood diamonds I had acquired from overseas.
    
      Now of course, he knew they were blood diamonds, but I didn't look like anyone's errand boy. There was also no "real" way of proving or disproving the rocks were being used to fund the operations of criminal syndicates or insurgent groups. In any case, I was prepared to offer more if the bastard was willing to sign it all over to me.
    
      I was unwilling to take "No" for an answer as I had some projects at Down-To-Earth that needed my attention desperately back home. So I pulled out my second hidden ace: persuasion. After a bit of arguing, we agreed to an asking price of two million; as part of the agreement, he'd say that he sold it to me in order to better humanity and for me to practice my method of arcology (architectural ecology).
    
      In return, I gave him most of the gems I acquired (okay, stole) from the insurgent camps. The half dozen pink and gold uncut diamonds (big as golf balls) I had swiped from the Congolese mines were worth considerably much more than the selling price of the island on paper. I mean seriously, he didn't do much with the place in the first place now, did he?
    
      Once the papers were signed, it made a bit of a buzz in local news. I was incredibly lucky that my lovelies were too involved with work, school, and the kids (or being pregnant with them) to have noticed. I had Red Rock now, and I had plans for it. Dealing with the three different planning commissions in the three counties was a hassle though.
    
      The guys in the San Francisco department I had down pat. The ones I deemed helpful, I had entertained and feted well; those who didn't often suffered a mild "breakdown" and prolonged migraines until they resigned. The Contra Costa office didn't seem to have a problem since most of the island was in their territory (hence, most of the taxes would go to them).
    
      It was the Marin office that proved most difficult. They insisted on re-assessing the value several times, despite the fact that the point of sale was deliberately low so I could afford the property tax on the damn place every year. I had deliberately bartered away some gems that would've made my six lovely treasures even more lovely (especially if it was the only thing they wore) just so we could keep the "official" price reasonable, but the tax men in Marin were greedy beyond belief.
    
      So I did some rather brusque and heavy-handed "mind-twisting" while getting some of the contractors who'd worked on my old building to start breaking ground. The troublemakers suffered severe migraines when I confronted them; essentially, it was me trying to wear them down, or drive them mad so I'd get a replacement who would go with my flow. Eventually, I got what I wanted, but the process was as exhausting for me as it was for them.
    
    ===============================================================================
      MISTER AWESOME
    ===============================================================================
    
      Growing up, I was always the runt at school and in my class. I blamed this partly on my birthday, September 30th. That made me just eligible for the current class of students when the school year started in fall (the United States had a school system that revolved around the summer agricultural harvest due to its history of being an agricultural British colony; school started in August or September and ended in May or June).
    
      So each year, I would likely be the youngest in my class. If not for my gifts, I probably would've developed into quite the introvert. I did my best to cope and had my fun. Still, I never saw myself as cool, suave or debonair. I mean Hugh Hefner was cool when Playboy was at its height of popularity back in the 1960s and 1970s, but not me.
    
      I was just plain old Stanley Chen. True, I could screw with people's minds and stuff, but being cool or fashionable wasn't in my deck of cards. Telepaths who opt for the shadowy, loner lifestyle preying on teen girls and boys were hardly the cool bunch.
    
      A couple of wonderful women changed that. The first was my fashion conscious Lady Wu. She dropped subtle hints on how I should dress when she'd pour over GQ, Miss, and other magazines when we were younger. Viktoriya, despite her love of long skirts (so she'd skip out on wearing underwear) had her say with me too. In New York, the busy burg constantly bombarded her (and through her mind-sight, me) with fashionable attire I emulated to please my dusky Russkie.
    
      Rachelle too, influenced me heavily despite our interregnum during the late 90s. She was as fashion conscious as Ling-Ling (if not more so) because she lived in Los Angeles, and worked with cable broadcasters for a while. After my dark beauty got her life back in order, the two of us occasionally did a little shopping therapy.
    
      Without denigrating or dismissing Melanie, Shawn, or Jamie, my newest toy was contributing to my playboy reputation if only unknowingly. Rosalind Chae was young, vivacious, and a blank template for me to mold into a good woman. A middle-aged man in the waning years of his prime with a good looking young lady on his arm certainly turned heads. And despite the brief time we'd known each other, her air-headed, pseudo-valley girl attitude was a refreshing reminder of how much I'd grown.
    
      Rosalind was foolish to be sure, but her youthful energy instilled me with a raw desire to better myself even further. I suppose one could call it a burgeoning guilt, but I was able to spin the negativity of our secret liaison into positive action: aside from dedicating more time into my hobbies, I sought to hone the kids' development by broadening their interests, exposing them to new experiences, and teaching them responsibilities with small day-to-day tasks.
    
      With my darlings, I didn't find my libido waning when I was fucking Rosalind. In fact, after a day of strenuous activity, I found myself more energized and randy (physical limitations aside, I now think it may have been a psychic by-product of the affair). I was more than ready to snuggle the living shit out of my lovelies at night, much to their annoyance.
    
      "Jeez Stanley." Shawn pushed me off after one impromptu session. "What's gotten into you lately?"
    
      "Nothing unhealthy I hope." I chuckled as I groped her massive mammaries.
    
      "Stop that." She swatted my hands. "It's not like you've been blue-balled lately. Have you been taking Viagra?"
    
      "Now why would I do that?" I growled and bit her cheek lightly. "That crap just slows me down."
    
      Shawn sighed and began picking at the frayed ends of her hair. I sensed her anxiety and wished I could control myself. My buxom dumpling often procrastinated when I was around and in the mood. It seemed that we were both trying to re-capture those lazy weekends when we'd hit the books, did a little homework, and then fucked like bunnies right before and after dinner in the privacy of my old room.
    
      Those days were gone now, and replaced by demanding schedules, and time consuming meetings. We also had a responsibility to our daughter Kady, who was getting into her formative years. Everything we did or said seemed to have a direct affect on the precocious little hard-case; it didn't help that she was also a stubborn child. I rose, got dressed, and stepped out into the living room so Shawn Ellen could be alone. Outside, little Kady was doodling on an oversized sketchpad which doubled as her play-mat.
    
      "Da-daa! Look!" She started to get up awkwardly, her colored chalks threatening to make a nice mess on the ivory carpet. I quickly scooped her and her things up and set them all on the Teflon coated kitchen floor.
    
      "Didn't mom and I tell you to draw in the kitchen?" I gave her a quick, playful swat on her bottom.
    
      "I dun'wanna!" Kady tried to squirm out of my grip.
    
      "It's so there's no big mess, understand?" I grabbed her tiny hands gently and clapped them together. "See all this color chalk? It goes on what Kady?"
    
      "The skitch'bad!" she pointed helpfully.
    
      "And where should you put the sketch pad?" I asked her.
    
      "Th'kitchen," Kady mumbled.
    
      "Good girl." I gave her quick kiss and set her back down as her plump mother stepped out from the bedroom, her clothes back on and neatly arranged.
    
      "C'mere Kady." Shawn grabbed the little girl gently and cleaned off the chalk powder on her fingers. Despite Shawn's reservations about Kady's stubborness, our little girl was thankfully obedient when both of us were there to teach her. My Anglo angel looked at me expectantly.
    
      "So, are you going now?"
    
      "Yep." I managed a wry grin. "Dropping by Jay's to, um -- surprise her and the girls."
    
      "Oh, yeah sure." Shawn cracked a funny little smile. "Like you did me?"
    
      "Of course, pumpkin." I winked and kissed her before she could protest. "Want me to take Kady along? Let you do some work?"
    
      "Would you?" Shawn's eyes sparkled. "Thank you, Stanley."
    
      "You want to join us for dinner?" I asked, "Jay's trying her hand at some of Melanie's dishes tonight."
    
      "No way." Shawn let out a bark of laughter. "Jamie? Cook?"
    
      My eyes and grin both grew wide as I wagged a finger at her. "You be nice now, and give some support. Yu-Ching's going to rip ---"
    
      Shawn shot me a 'Hold it!' look, and I quickly corrected myself before Kady picked up any new ideas. My dumpling may have been lenient on discipline, but as I mentioned before, she was quick witted where it counted.
    
      "Melanie will probably be very critical. Jan's bringing a roll of Tums just in case," I finished lamely.
    
      "All right. I'll drop by Rachelle's and keep her company."
    
      We both smiled weakly at that. My First and my mulatto darling still did their best to avoid each other. While Frederick played well with Rachelle's twin girls, Michael and (by extension due to Viktoriya's absence) Milhail weren't so close to them (not that it mattered much since the boys could sometimes get rowdy) but it was something I felt the children should decide for themselves whom they liked and didn't like; not their parents.
    
      Shawn, Melanie, Jamie, and I would always try to schedule something of playtime between all the kids. That was fine with Janet and Rachelle, but getting the two into the same room (let alone sit at the same table) was always a chore. It was yet another thing that kept me worrying late at night.
    
      "All right," I sighed and turned to our bi-racial little girl. "C'mon Kady, we're going to let mommy work. Let's go to mother Jamie's and see your sisters, okay?"
    
      "'Kay!!" Kady escaped her mother's clutches and ran to get her shoes on. The girl liked playing with her sisters as much as she enjoyed rollicking with her brothers.
    
      Kids, I thought wryly. At least they were enjoying themselves.
    
      Shawn remained sitting on her haunches while she watched our little dynamo tie her shoelaces without help. She felt my hand on her shoulder and she looked up at me. Seeing how she was kneeling before me, Shawn blushed and quickly stood up. I pulled her back and gave her a light kiss before Kady and I headed down one floor to Jamie's unit.
    
      That was just a snapshot in my family life as it stood as the new year 2008 started. I was riding high on many things, when the innocent (and private) fun I enjoyed with Rosalind was turned on its head. I suppose I couldn't blame her; being young and foolish, she had ideas of her own. Looking back now, I guessed my crime was I didn't nudge Rosalind far enough, for fear of potentially injuring her as I had with Rachelle; with my hesitation, things rapidly spun out of control.
    
    ===============================================================================
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    ===============================================================================
    


	5. Invisible Empire - Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stanley is an average kid - easily distracted, lazy, and unremarkable. Then he discovers he has not just a power, but several powers. Creepy abilities that can't be fully understood, or even mastered. Trouble begins when he starts using his powers, and in doing so, Stanley will meet Davey (from Steven Gould's 'Jumper' novel) and the Roget family (from Robert Cormier's 'Fade').
> 
> Many of the other characters are drawn from my personal past, although many more are simply stock characters (this is a porn story after all). I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
    
    
    ===============================================================================
      LEGAL DISCLAIMER
    ===============================================================================
    
    The following literary work is one of historic fiction. While certain elements may be recognized as based on actual events, the characters and personal events are fictitious. No actual persons were involved in the creation of this fictional work, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is pure coincidence.
    
    Certain characters portrayed within this work are copyrighted to Gould (1993) and Cormier (1988). The author wishes to express his deep gratitude towards the aforementioned authors for giving him creative inspiration when still a young man, and to stretch his imaginations beyond one's own reality. For this, and the countless other aspiring writers in the mainstream and underground markets you've inspired, the author sincerely thanks you. No malice or slight was intended by the willful inclusion of your marvelous creations into this work.
    
    This work is intended for adults, and features situations, dialogue, and descriptions that are unsuitable for minors. Please be mindful of your local laws and customs in regards to distributing or dissemination of obscene material. Thank you.
    
    ===============================================================================
    
                              Inter arma enim silent leges
    
                         [In times of war, the law falls silent.]
    
    ===============================================================================
      AN INVISIBLE EMPIRE
    ===============================================================================
    
      You can see us, but you do not know where we are.
    
      You can hear us, but you do not know what we are.
    
      You can even speak with us, but you will not know who we are.
    
      We are an invisible empire, a secret kingdom, and we rule the world.
    
                                     =======
      -----------
      PREVIOUSLY:
      -----------
    
      Stanley relives the years between 2001 and 2007. Now a young father, he lives with his wives in San Francisco, and further masters his gifts until they approach the level of his mentor Tseng. Despite this improvement, he still achieves many of his goals through subversive and covert means. When Stanley's family is threatened by Shawn's father, he metes out swift and harsh retribution while maintaining a facade of wholesomeness.
    
      While Stanley does his best to inure his wives and children to the rigors of a rapidly changing world, reality wears at his idealism. Seeking an outlet, he beings to build a very private, and unique, residence in the San Francisco Bay. However, that project is not enough to stave off more immediate temptation. He carries on an illicit affair with one of his own university students, Rosalind Chae. As the year 2008 begins, he arranges to keep her as an on-going mistress separate from his household.
    
    ===============================================================================
      GIRLS NEXT DOOR
    ===============================================================================
    
      As I had accurately guessed the year prior, 2008 immediately got busy. Apart from cleaning up the remnants of the ricin and anthrax operations, the agency sent me, Ghost Light, Mirage, and Masquerade out on a retrieval mission in Montana. The asset sent in to infiltrate a local organization had gotten the information we wanted, but he was now suspected as an infiltrator.
    
      So, we had to get him out before things went bad. Normally, Masquerade didn't accompany us on field-ops, but she was called in due to this particular emergency extraction. She was to maintain the asset's cover while we got him out. Bethany did that with great skill, perfectly mimicking our agent so Ghost Light could warp him outta there.
    
      To cover Masquerade's escape, Mirage caused a significant distraction while I guided Bethany out using enhanced mind-sight and an ear-bud to disguise my true potential. If she suspected my powers had grown, she definitely verified it when I pinged her a few times to forewarn her of impending danger. I trusted Bethany though; Tseng had given her a quick version of the empire's story, though I got the feeling that she suspected there was something more to it.
    
      Initially, there were complications in the operation. While the others fit right in, I had to play the part of supervisory agent in charge. Dapper Chinese gentlemen generally didn't hang around militia-infested Montana. Regardless, the four of us completed our task and left without further incident. More importantly, there was no bloodshed. The body count was for the FBI and ATF to rack-up once we left.
    
      Because I had some time left of my leave of absence from the firm, I called up Rosalind to see if she was available. Our arrangement wasn't without the occasional exchange of body fluid. As much pussy I had at home, I didn't mind porking Rosalind when I handed over her monthly allowance. True to our agreement, Rosalind maintained a fairly high grade point average (around 3.9).
    
      Not having to worry about money freed her to focus on school work. I made little demand on her time. Since she lived just across the bay, it was easy to meet and arrange a casual encounter. Usually, it was a quick meet at a hotel. Hence, I was surprised when Rosalind greeted me with some strange demands.
    
      "Oh hey, Stan," the Korean cutie chirped over the phone, "Where are you?"
    
      "An airport." I was vague; I never revealed too much to Rosalind. "I'm going to be in later tonight. I was wondering if you'd be free tomorrow?"
    
      "Tomorrow?" Rosalind sniffed and I heard the clickety-clack of her smartphone. "Oh yeah, fer sure! But um, can I bring some company?"
    
      I paused, a little surprised. "Sure I guess. Wait. Is it anyone I know?"
    
      I had said I wasn't there to control her life, and being permissive with certain things was part of my nature. In fact, if Rosalind was bringing along some people she found interesting, that was fine too. I only wanted to bone her for about an hour or so a month. What she did the rest of the time was her business.
    
      "Just some friends of mine. You bumped into one of 'em last time, remember?" Rosalind lowered her voice before going on, "Um, Stan? Can you do four thousand this time?"
    
      "Sure." I found my interest suddenly piqued. "But why?"
    
      "Uh--huh," Rosalind responded obliquely, "Yeah. My friends wanna party. So, like it'll be a grand each okay?"
    
      I sensed her thoughts despite being a thousand miles away. Rosalind's friends were in the room with her and partially listening in. Interesting. She's either setting me up, or she just arranged an orgy for me. I grew mildly suspicious, but played along, not wanting to wreck what plans she made.
    
      "Sure. No problem. The usual place?"
    
      "Um, let's try the coffee place near Wurster Hall," Rosalind suggested.
    
      "Fine," I said, "See you tomorrow, say noon-ish?"
    
      "See ya at noon," she replied and hung up.
    
      I was curious as I reached out and pinged Rosalind's mind. By the time my plane took off from Logan International Airport, I had gathered enough to know what was going on. Upon meeting my Korean cupcake the day after, I was confirmed my suspicions. Rosalind had three friends who shared her apartment; one of them I had bumped into on my way out the last time I visited. Rose's roommates had seen her mood go from stressed out to sanguine in the short span of three months. The questions were light-hearted at first. Then genuine jealousy set in when the other girls got hints of her secret.
    
      Rosalind couldn't give away the whole story without seriously revealing how much she was getting. But with Spring Break coming up, Rosalind grew soft-hearted and decided to split her March payment in a hair-brained scheme that would've given Melanie a run for her money. Her friends were three nineteen year old college girls named Sasha Goodwin, Kimberly Brewer, and Alexia Lambedakis.
    
      All were fairly pretty, and most guys would earnestly give up their left nut for a single night with any one of them (let alone all at once). In my case, I just splashed a wad of money and wondered how the hell I got into this mess.
    
      To be truthful, I wasn't all that much into the partying scene anymore -- not with worrying about the kids at home. Besides, if I was screwing around, I didn't want to think about what my darlings would do on their own time. As Viktoriya's stunt in Italy had reminded me, I could've easily been the cuckolded husband in a nest of harpies.
    
      Still, there was a quartet of slutty college whores who were willing to sell it if the price was right, and I was an eager buyer. At a grand a night per pussy, it was something amicable to everyone involved. Rosalind and her three buddies were waiting for me at a coffee house on the corner of College and Bancroft. It was a great place for design students when they needed a caffeine pick-me-up.
    
      "Oh hiya!" Rosalind waved as I came into sight.
    
      I waved back as I approached the group, studying each of the new faces and minds as quickly as I could. My former student was dressed in a loose orange top and a pair of denim shorts. It was far less than what she wore when we first met, but a spring heat wave had hit Berkeley early that year. I could see her cute little feet and her painted toes from the sandals she was wearing, her olive tan skin begging for a man's touch. Her other three friends were just as enticingly dressed.
    
      Sasha was an exotic looker, much like Viktoriya. She even sat as primly as my Russian darling. She possessed gorgeous brown hair done in two loose pig-tails. She had sharp features, and her cheeks and jaw were chiseled in a way that gave her strong Slavic features -- all which only enhanced her fierce beauty. The girl wore a striped top that lifted her B-cups to form some cleavage and which easily showed off her navel piercing. Her sandal-wrapped feet peeked out past her black jeans, giving her an approachable, if coquettish, air.
    
      Kimberly appeared more traditional "American" with brownish red curls and a simple peach-tan top and white shorts. A pair of sunglasses were stuck into her hair. Her inquisitive green-grey eyes flicked between the text messages on her mobile phone and me. The tall girl appeared to be the biggest of the bunch, her face having that "wideness" that was apparent when one looked at her dead on. However, she had a pretty athletic body which practically demanded attention.
    
      Alexia was a mix of between something Asian and (I guessed from her last name) Greco-Macedonian. It didn't matter, for she was a definite hottie. She wore a loose frilly shirt which she didn't bother tucking into her faded blue jeans. Unlike the others who wore sandals or open toed shoes for spring, the brunette had donned a pair of tan suede or leather boots. Her below-shoulder length hair dangled behind her as she sat precariously without a care at the cafe.
    
      So, it was in the midst of this quartet of young women, I made my introduction and sat. We ordered and chatted. I was talkative, but only when it came to asking them about the girls' lives and feigning interest in their activities and hobbies. By now, I was used to steering and cajoling the conversation with a quick smile and a little light mind-reading.
    
      Of course, I only spent as much time remembering what facts I needed to successfully bed each of of those hussies. I knew one of them had troubles with an on-and-off boyfriend, while another was experimenting with Ecstasy. The third was into seriously hardcore vibrator usage. All of them though, were struggling and nervous; none of them had prostituted themselves before.
    
      After lunch, Rosalind led the way towards her apartment. As I walked with the four girls through the campus, I noticed our little group turned heads. I also wondered if (and how) Rosalind had prepared this time. If she was as loopy-headed as the last couple times, it would mean I have to do some groundwork. When we were near the campus' South Gate, I told them I'd be back in a bit after I drop by the Walgreens on Shattuck.
    
      "I know where the place is," I said, "I'll be right back."
    
      "But I got everything." Rosalind paused. "Or I think I did."
    
      "You think?" Kimberly elbowed the little Korean girl, "Are you sure?"
    
      "It's better to be safe than sorry." I gave them a shrewd grin and suggested, "Why don't you head back and relax? I'll be back in a flash."
    
      Perhaps it was just to make sure I came back to go through with the whole thing, but pretty pig-tailed Sasha tagged along. She and I made quite the cute couple as we walked down sun-drenched Shattuck to the pharmacy. Without batting an eye, I headed straight to the contraceptives section; Sasha toyed gingerly with a stack of hairclips as I swept past the shelf.
    
      I grabbed a box of the correct-sized condoms and the largest container of lubricant I could find, then headed for the checkout. The pimply-faced clerk of course, had his eyes on Sasha's tight petite ass as she followed me outside the pharmacy. I caught his fleeting thoughts as we went out of sight; none of them were wholesome enough to remember or repeat here.
    
      Back at Rosalind's, I handed over my "donation" (essentially, the payment) to the girls and they were seriously blown away by the dough I was spending. From the thoughts I was grabbing, I determined that Rosalind had twisted the truth a bit about the stipend she was getting to her so-called friends. I had fully prepared and sorted four thousand dollars into four separate security envelopes earlier.
    
      In addition, I carried my allowance of petty cash in small and large bills in case things got more interesting. Lucky for me, the girls were satisfied with what I had to offer; I needn't spend more.
    
      From Rosalind's lies, the other three girls thought I was paying her a mere grand to fuck her brains out once a month. This of course, didn't jive with reality. I was actually giving her a lot more dough and I wasn't actually banging her whenever I felt like it. I could have, but I definitely wasn't. Rosalind decided to be a bit generous and share her fortune this one time so I could have one heckuva orgy. It was her way of "gifting" me something special in her twisted way, and I was all right with it.
    
      Things got busy quick after I hit the shower. The Slavic girl, Sasha took the plunge first by hopping in with me and sucking me off. I rammed her face a few times but held off and refused to spunk. I wrapped my cock with a condom, picked up the slight college freshman, and porked her silly. Sasha's arms and legs were wrapped around me as I slammed her in the bathroom.
    
      However, I grew tired of how things were going, and decided to take things further. I carried Sasha right into the living room where the other three girls were lounging. Amidst their shocked and surprised gasps and stares, I plopped Sasha on the floor and pummelled her right before their very eyes. The show had an amusing effect on the girls as they cheered (or jeered) my fuck-toy as she lost control over her body and orgasmed like she never had before. I TK-rolled her G-spot a few more times, timing it with my own thrusts to wipe her out.
    
      Emboldened, I pulled out of a shivering Sasha, put on a new condom, and selected the next girl. Sensing her arousal, I grabbed Rosalind roughly by the wrist. She gasped as I pushed her down on all fours and rammed right into her without any pretense of foreplay. While this had the danger of being harmful, I had enough control over telekinesis to ease myself in without physically harming her.
    
      To Rosalind, it felt like a very slick, very lubricated, very warm, and very massive dick had been shoved into her body and throbbed against her vaginal walls. She cried out loudly as the other girls watched transfixed as their friend turned into a wailing banshee. I drilled my extramarital fuck-nugget until I lost count how many times she juiced over my fuck baton.
    
      When I finished with Rosalind, I grabbed the next convenient girl, Kimberly, and pushed her onto the sofa. She uttered a wild screech as I split her pussy with a mix of telekinesis and my freshly protected Chinaman's dick. From my scans, I knew this girl enjoyed some light abuse. I lightly slapped her face a few times while I porked her silly.
    
      Kimberly initially snarled, but it was a "happy" kind of snarl. I sensed she wanted more so I decided to up it a notch. I squeezed out a large gob of goopy lube and worked it over her puckered asshole. Having thrown both her legs to one side, I was able to work a condom covered finger into her tight little shitter. Soon, her ass was begging to be wrecked by anything longer than four inches and thicker than an American dime.
    
      The frazzled hair beauty's eyes grew wide with fear and anticipation as I pulled out of her cooch and mounted an Asian invasion on her tight, puckered asshole. Her howl of, "Goddamn!!" drew the awe of her friends while I slammed her like a well-oiled steam engine. My fingers left slight welts on her hips and thighs as I rammed her over and over again.
    
      Kimberly grimaced like she was in pain, but she was clearly enjoying herself -- her ass clamped down on my meat shaft with each stroke. I finally spread her legs apart, and flicked her clit until she seized up and came in one huge extended orgasm.
    
      "Rose, get me a paper towel." I pointed with my chin.
    
      Rosalind hopped to the kitchen and came back with a roll of towels. I took a square and pulled out of Kimberly's asshole. She grabbed a few squares and excused herself to the washroom. That was fine. That was also why Janet didn't mind condoms when anal sex was involved. I quickly changed yet another condom and pounced on Alexia.
    
      Despite her fiery appearance, this girl wasn't into the rough stuff. So, I slowed my pace to make her comfortable. I spread her legs wide, letting her shapely calves press against my chest as I entered her tight little hole. As it turned out, Alexia was the circle's closet masturbator. She moaned softly as I plowed her slowly and gently.
    
      "Shit -- I want that!" Sasha exclaimed quietly behind me.
    
      I turned around to see Sasha fingering herself; her digits slick and glossy from her body fluids. Nearby, Kimberly had showered herself clean and was bumping butts with Rosalind. I saw they were sharing a double-ended dildo that was as glossy-wet as Sasha's fingers. Feeling adventuresome, I tugged Sasha towards me and kissed her full on. She responded eagerly by pressing herself against me. As I continued my thrusting, Sasha glanced at her chum lying on the floor.
    
      "Hey Lexi." Sasha let out a drunk giggle. "Wanna eat me out?"
    
      Alexia blinked; she seemed apprehensive as her gaze shifted to me for my opinion.
    
      I only managed a wry grin. "You'll never know if you don't try."
    
      The Greco-Asiatic brunette smiled shyly and nodded. Sasha straddled the other girl's face and tongue-fucked my mouth while I stuck her friend, who in turn, lapped up Sasha's dripping puss. By now, I had denied myself the chance to shoot my spunk several times. I wanted release, but the feeling I got from the four girls in the apartment were that they weren't yet satisfied. I glanced at the clock in Rosalind's apartment and saw it was only a few minutes past 3 P.M. local time. I had been fucking these girls for less than an hour.
    
      "Hey pull out just a sec," Sasha said.
    
      I glanced down and saw that the doe-eyed girl with the pig-tails was leaning over, and appeared to be sixty-nine-ing Alexia. She wasn't though. Instead, Sasha was alternately licking her friend's clit and panting with her mouth wide open, practically inviting me to shove my dick right in. Man, I thought wryly, the guy who was going to date this nympho was in for a treat.
    
      I pulled out of Alexia and shoved my covered cock into Sasha's eager, waiting mouth. She let her jaws slacken as I poled her slowly (and carefully; I didn't want to knock her teeth out). My dick ached for release, but I denied myself the pleasure. Slick with spit, spermicide, and lubricant, I pulled out and slid back into Alexia with ease. I felt the busty Greek girl's pussy pulse quickly as she came three times in quick succession.
    
      I slammed her a few more times before I left Sasha and Alexia alone. By now, I was like a man following his basest desires as I got up and gingerly pulled Kimberly on top of me. She gasped in surprise when I took her. Rosalind tongue wrestled me while my hips bucked gently upward against Kimberly's baby-kettle.
    
      "Like it huh?" Rosalind asked after I drew back for some breath.
    
      "Y--yeah." I panted.
    
      "Cool, glad you do." She bent in close and kissed my neck. I gritted my teeth and fought the urge to cum.
    
      "Can we join in?" Sasha and Alexia were kneeling just beside me.
    
      "In--na--min--net," Kimberly's face contorted as she uttered a soft cry and climaxed again. The frazzled-haired girl let out a satisfied breath, leaned over to kiss me, and got off the Miracle-Fuck that was my modest little dick.
    
      "Me next!"
    
      Sasha quickly impaled herself before anyone could contest her. And on and on this went until it started getting dark. By now, I had maintained and erection for nearly three hours. I wasn't using anything except a little mental exercise to keep myself hard. The girls in the apartment were saddle-sore, dehydrated, and more than a little irked that I still hadn't shot my load.
    
      "You know, I didn't believe you at first," Alexia said to Rosalind, "But your boyfriend's dick is like solid granite or sum'thin'."
    
      I grinned more at the "boyfriend" tag than Alexia's compliment. Rosalind giggled shyly as she bent down to kiss me.
    
      "Hey Stan," she whispered, "It's been great, but we got mid-terms next week y'know?"
    
      "Ungh--yeah," I groaned as Sasha rode my fuck-shaft for the umpteenth time now. I watched the petite dark haired girl shiver as she orgasmed yet another time. She fell back, exhausted and breathless.
    
      "But you haven't cum yet!?" Kimberly glanced at me astonished. "We're fuckin' the Man O'Steel here."
    
      "Ha-hah," Sasha giggled deliriously, "Supa'man! I fucked Superman!!"
    
      We all laughed a bit, but Rosalind got serious.
    
      "No c'mon guys," she said, "He paid us a lotta money. He's gotta cum, y'know?"
    
      "What'd you suggest?" Kimberly asked.
    
      "I've got an idea," I said and the four of them looked at me. "I've been holding back 'cause I didn't want to leave anyone out, but why don't the four of you try sucking me off? Just another five minutes or so. I'll watch and if I can't get off, we can try next time."
    
      "Sounds like a challenge" Rosalind said as she wore saucy smile. "C'mon! Show your teeth and TEAR it up!!"
    
      The girls laughed as much as I did. If they only knew how fast Shawn and Jamie made me blow my load, they'd be put to shame. Sasha placed herself of over one of my legs and Kimberly the other, while Alexia and Rosalind lay prone beside me. I found I could reach and grab Alexia's and Rosalind's cute butt-cheeks as the four girls began licking, biting, and sucking my dick, balls, and groin in earnest.
    
      Holy shit, it felt great! I shuddered and nearly came. Thankfully, I inured myself against such stimulation and kept my erection. By now, Sasha and Alexia would alternate being suckling the top of my prick while biting the length of my shaft. Kimberly, wanting to find her own space, found that I groaned softly when she took my balls into her mouth.
    
      "Oh yeah, that's good," I said through gritted my teeth as to encourage them. "The balls, the tip, the whole thing -- ungh."
    
      The girls got the gist of it as they continued licking and mouth-fucking me. I tugged Rosalind and guided her to suck on my erect nipples.
    
      "Feels good?" she mumbled as she kissed my nips.
    
      "Bite." I shivered with eager anticipation. "Just a bit."
    
      Rosalind grinned and bit me -- hard. Coupled with the sweet oral I was getting from three other girls, my body tensed up and I blew my top. Alexia squealed as my hand tightened over her lovely ass. Her squeal of delight quickly became a cry of annoyance when she found most of my scuzz flew into her hair.
    
      "Hole--lee--fuck!!"
    
      Sasha laughed as Alexia sat up. The Greco-Asian girl sat with a frown on her face as she tried to untangle the soggy mess in her beautiful black hair. Kimberly in the mean time, seemed like she was getting a second wind. I watched her press her face tight against my scrotum and deeply inhale my man scent.
    
      "Fuck that was awesome!" Kimberly murmured, "Hey, if you don't mind Rosie, can I --?"
    
      "God, you're such a slut!!" Rosalind scowled at her friend then turned to me. "Do you think you can? What'd you think?"
    
      As inviting as it was, I didn't want to jeapordize their academic careers.
    
      "I'd say hit the books," I said as I sat up, "But if you're in the mood, ten more minutes?"
    
      "Thanks!" Kimberly nodded and scrambled for a new condom while the others dispersed, grabbing their clothes, stretching, and yawning. In the meantime, the tall Caucasian girl clawed my neck lightly as she settled her ass over my still stiff dick.
    
      "I aim to please." I grinned at her and she smiled shyly back. I didn't know I had it in me, but I found I could still walk after all that activity. By the time I was dressed and ready to leave, it was dusk. Kimberly found the shower was still occupied by Alexia (she was still scrubbing her hair clean of my cum) so she and Sasha stepped out to grab some take-out. With the bathroom occupied and Rosalind changing, I didn't want any more fanfare and I quietly made for the door.
    
      "Hey!" It was my Korean honey. She had just stepped out from her room, cute as a button. Rosalind was dressed in an oversized T-shirt, white socks and panties. It made her look sweeter and younger than her age. The lil' Korean spinner ran up and threw her arms around me. I sagged back a bit and returned her embrace.
    
      "You're leaving without saying goodbye?" Rosalind looked at me.
    
      "Sorry." I rubbed her back gently. "I thought you were studying."
    
      "Well it only takes a sec to say g'bye!" She didn't relinquish her hold.
    
      "Sorry Rose." I gave her a gentle hug. "G'night. And let those friends of yours know I had plenty of fun."
    
      "I'll bet." Rosalind's eyes sparkled as she asked, "You wanna do'em again huh?"
    
      "Well, sure." I rubbed her cheek gently. "If they're up for it."
    
      "Let's wait and see if my Pell Grant comes through," she lowered her voice to a bare whisper, "Then I can afford it to let you fuck my friends."
    
      "You're a wild one." I gave her a kiss on the nose. "Don't you get into trouble now. Understand, sweetheart?"
    
      "I won't 'daddy'." Rosalind tip-toed and kissed me on lips. "I'll be good, 'kay?"
    
      We usually stuck with our monosyllable names when possible. However, the age difference and how we saw each other nearly made it seem like we were father and daughter (almost -- although I'm sure Janet would've gone nuts if she got pregnant at age 18). I didn't let any of that faze me as I kissed her deeply. The petite little K-gal cooed with pleasure and clutched me ever tighter as my tongue slipped past her sweet lips and into her eager mouth. I finally had to draw back for some air.
    
      "Be a good girl 'till I get back, 'kay?"
    
      "Yes'um." She kissed me passionately once more on the lips before I finally left.
    
    ===============================================================================
      HOME FRONT
    ===============================================================================
    
      Now you might think that a man would be wiped out after having balled four college girls who were young enough to be his daughters. Not a chance. Instead of taking the underground train, I found a secluded corner of the the apartment block and flew up straight into the air. Using the small gyrocompass on my hiking watch and the lights in the distance, I pointed myself towards San Francisco.
    
      My telekinesis was still not as potent as Viktoriya's, but I had honed what I had to a level of proficiency I wouldn't have dreamed of when I was younger. I "pushed" on the soles of my shoes to achieve the height I needed and maintained my balance by "jerking" the dress belt I wore.
    
      By doing this, I was able to safely "fly" without risk breaking something on my body and I zipped towards the City by the Bay just a few feet over the chilly water. I managed to land back home unseen and unnoticed after a short, soundless flight.
    
      My building was quite impressive at night. Garden lamps lit up the front yard with low wattage solar-powered LEDs. The lights gave the place an eerie luminosity at night. Janet's house next door was similarly illuminated. I saw one of her lights was on and I reflexively pinged. A-ha. A slow grin crept across my face.
    
      Janet had taken Michael, Milhail, and little Frederick to stay at her house for a little while. Despite our "no one under six" rule, my First bent it for her son after I installed child-proof locks on the sliding doors. We also carefully instructed both the older boys they were to NEVER go into the backyard without an adult (Jillian, of course, didn't count and she could come and go as she pleased with Janet's and Jamie's permission).
    
      I headed into my unit and glanced at my watch. It was nearly 9 o'clock. I reheated and ate a pork bun, showered, brushed, donned some dress slacks, shirt and jacket, grabbed a bottle of chardonnay, and ran back outside to my First's residence. I rang her doorbell once and waited. I sensed Janet's confusion as I felt her presence approach the front door. She spied me through the peephole and greeted me in genuine surprise.
    
      "Stanley? What're you doing here? I thought tonight was your 'off-night'."
    
      "I got lonely." I flashed her my trademark smile.
    
      "You mean you got horny," Janet said dourly, "Is this a booty call?"
    
      "Maybe." I pouted and rubbed a shoe behind the other like a shy kid. "Aren't you going to let your poor husband in?"
    
      Janet knitted her brow and glared with her arms folded across her chest.
    
      "Pretty please?" I leaned close and kissed her. "Ngoi-gwaju lei-a Ling-Ling*." [* Cantonese: I missed you Ling-Ling.]
    
      My First reluctantly took my bottle of two-buck Chuck and stepped aside to let me in.
    
      "Where're the boys?"
    
      "Probably asleep until you rang the bell." Janet shut the door behind me. "For the record, you're too late to dine me."
    
      "So I'll just wine you. I'll think about the sixty-nining part."
    
      "Charming as always." She sniffed and walked past me with her head held high.
    
      "Don't be uppity Jan." I grabbed her and spun her into my arms.
    
      "What's gotten into you?! You've been acting all weird recently."
    
      "Mid-life crisis." I leered. "Does it matter? You're getting some tonight."
    
      "It does to me," she said peevishly, "You sure you're not taking something?"
    
      "Hmm, maybe. Does lady-juice count?"
    
      "Eww." Janet wrinkled her nose. "Fuck no!"
    
      "Oooh! Mom said a bad word!!"
    
      My First gasped as she and I looked up to see the oldest boys on the stairs. Mikey and Milhail both registered shock on their faces that their mother had said a curse word.
    
      "Hey guys." I grinned and winked. "You heard your mom. Gimme a hand and tie her up for a spanking okay?"
    
      "Cool!" Mikey sped off to the kitchen, followed closely by Milhail.
    
      "You wouldn't dare." Janet levelled a glare at me.
    
      "Hey why not?" I shrugged, "You said it -- not me. Now you gotta be paddled."
    
      Janet shook her head in bewilderment as we composed ourselves.
    
      "Wait, wait a minute." She pushed me away. "You're kidding right?"
    
      "Do I look like I am?" I pointed at my face and gave her a 'You're in for it now!' look.
    
      Janet shook her head, took the bottle of wine, and head into the kitchen. Right as she stepped in, the boys came running back out the other side, their hands full of orange nylon cord.
    
      "Dad!" Milhail called out, "Where's mom?"
    
      "You didn't see her?" I knitted my brow. "Come on, follow me."
    
      My sons and I went to Janet's kitchen and found it empty save for the bottle of chardonnay.
    
      "She's escaped!" I feigned shock, "Fan out guys, let's find her!"
    
      "Awesome!! Mom's hiding 'cause she's gonna get spanked!" Mikey said excitedly.
    
      "I'll get Freddy up and help!" Milhail ran upstairs to rouse his brother.
    
      "Great." I laughed and gestured for them to do their thing.
    
      I knew where Janet was hiding but the kids were so energized, I wanted to run them tired so they could sleep well. I put the wine in the fridge and waited until my three pint-sized deputies lined up before me. Little Frederick was rubbing his eyes when he appeared, yawning.
    
      "Dad-da?" he yawned. "Where's mommy?"
    
      "Mom's in trouble!" Michael whispered, "She said the f-word RIGHT in front of us!"
    
      "Oh?" Little Freddy blinked, his mind slowly waking up. "R'illy?"
    
      "You bet!" Milhail nodded. "We heard her say it too!"
    
      "Okay guys." I huddled with them, "Here's the plan: mom's gotta be hiding around here somewhere. So spread out, search the rooms, and holler when you find her, okay?"
    
      "YEAH!!"
    
      The kids shouted and fanned out with such exuberance, I hoped they wouldn't get too rough. Janet wouldn't lift a finger to hurt them, but the two older boys packed a punch when they ran, and either could easily knock her over. A serious injury (even a bruise) at her age might turn out to be serious. Janet wasn't that old, but she wasn't as young as she used to be either.
    
      I waited little bit for the kids to scatter throughout the house before I took three steps towards the storage closet and opened it. Janet glowered at me unkindly. She was scrunched up and sitting on the vacuum cleaner. I pulled her up and out from the small space.
    
      "You irresponsible butthole," my First growled and nipped my cheek, "You're lucky tomorrow's Sunday."
    
      I ignored her protests and tried to kiss her. Janet tried turning her face away but I sensed which direction she was going to face, and gently headed her off each time. She finally gave up and I kissed her full on the mouth.
    
      "Wo-louw-a*!" Janet said after she gently pushed me away. [* Cantonese: I'm pissed!]
    
      "Ngmho kgum-le*," I scratched the backs of her hands gently. [* Cantonese: Don't be like this.]
    
      Before she could say anything more, the boys came in shouting excitedly. Frederick was hard at work pushing an office chair into the kitchen.
    
      "What's that for?" I asked him and pointed.
    
      "Ish'so mommy can be tied up!" he spun the chair around so it faced us.
    
      "Hah, smart lil'guy," I laughed as Janet's jaw dropped.
    
      "You -- wouldn't -- DARE!!" she let out an angry shriek as I scooped her up with one hand to the loud cheers of the kids.
    
      Despite the rough-housing, I set her down as gently as I could in the chair. Janet sat in quiet dejection with her hair frazzled and her blouse and dress roughed up. The older boys laughed with glee as they wrapped several feet of rope around their mother and the chair. Using my hand as a spacer (and a bit of telekinesis) I made sure the bonds weren't that tight. I wanted to be able to undo those bonds later so I could have fun with my lovely First.
    
      With our quarry captured, I rolled a defeated Janet into the first floor den and closed the door partly. I brought the kids back out to the living room, microwaved some popcorn, grabbed several boxes of fruit juices and sweetened soy milk, and then I rolicked with them for a few minutes.
    
      "Okay guys, I'm going to see how mom's doing," I said, "You guys have fun got it?"
    
      "Cool!" Milhail's eyes sparkled as I handed him the remote.
    
      "But dad," Michael whined, "I don't wanna watch Yu-Gi-Oh! I wanna watch Spiderman!"
    
      "Everyone gets a turn." I patted my son's head. "Let your brother watch this tonight and we'll do something you want tomorrow morning okay?"
    
      "Promise?" he asked.
    
      I nodded as Milhail turned up the volume to drown us out. Thankfully, Frederick wasn't as picky as his brothers. My kid burped loudly from his black currant juice and helped himself to some more buttered popcorn. I was spoiling them rotten and I'd hear no end of it from Janet tomorrow. But that still meant I could have fun tonight. I slipped quietly into the den and found the chair empty. The rope was in a pile next to it.
    
      I reflexively pinged the vicinity gently, and sensed Janet's presence in the master bedroom. I snuck upstairs quietly, passing a glance over the kids, who were all glued to the TV. Mikey was enjoying himself despite his earlier protest.
    
      As I neared the room, I cocked my head. I could hear the shower running, but something was fishy. I pinged as I opened the door to the bedroom slowly. I grinned as I realized that Janet was lurking in the darkness with a pillow in hand.
    
      "Xei-yea*!" Janet pounced on me. [* Cantonese: You bastard! (in this colloquial context)]
    
      I held my arms open and got whapped softly on the head for that act of compassion. I laughed as I grabbed the pillow in one arm, and encircled Janet's waist with the other.
    
      "Suiy-yun*!" [* Cantonese: Asshole (in this colloquial context)] She hissed angrily with a rough smile, "How dare you leave me tied up in the dark!"
    
      "Sorry." I kissed her lightly.
    
      "You'd better be!" Janet bit my cheek playfully, "What're they doing now?"
    
      "Watching TV." I tossed the pillow on the bed and glanced towards the shower. "You left that on?"
    
      "I heard you coming upstairs." Despite the dim light, I could see Janet's cheeks dimple. "You're not the quietest person I know."
    
      "Maybe I'm just tubby." I patted my slight paunch comically.
    
      "Lucky you." She grinned wryly. "I have just the exercise for tubby hubbies."
    
      Janet pulled me to the shower where we had made our own entertainment. When we were done an hour or so later, we checked on the kids. Frederick was asleep, but the older boys were only nodding off and watching the Yu-Gi-Oh fight whats-his-face again. I roused the boys and had them swish some Listerine before they went to bed.
    
      For Frederick, I had to content myself with getting him to brush his teeth while he was half-asleep. All that done, I put my sons to bed and headed for the master bedroom.
    
      "Lei kao wai-xaiy di-xeimenjei-a*!" Janet glowered at me with some annoyance. [* Cantonese: What a fine example you are! (colloquial trans.) literally: You teach the children badly]
    
      She had just finished picking up the crumbs, cups, and napkins our boys had left. I chuckled and turned the lights off. As mad as she sounded, I felt her hands on my face and neck once I slipped into bed alongside her. All in all, it was a very good night.
    
    ===============================================================================
      INTERLUDE -- WELCOME TO THE ROCK
    ===============================================================================
    
      By early 2008, my project at Red Rock had been going on for over two years. The last of the Marin county "problems" had been solved (not like I cared as I did some of the work my contractors weren't allowed to). Early on, there were a few environmental fanatics who gave me some trouble.
    
      A few of them even encamped on the island when I started excavation back in early 2006. The digging crew had to go home that day (setting me back quite a sum). When the contractor brought me the news, I was not in the mood to be civil.
    
      Just days before, Viktoriya had left for New York. Additionally, I was swamped with problems at home: aside from my money worries, I was taking care of our three new-born daughters so they wouldn't keep their mothers awake at night.
    
      Shawn's mother also chipped in, but dealing with one wailing infant was already a chore -- three screaming kids called for ordering valium by the pallet. Normally, Melanie would be able to help, but she couldn't because she was sick from her own pregnancy.
    
      For an hour after I got the news, I honestly thought murder would be the best solution. The waters around Red Rock were sixty feet deep; good enough for what I had in mind. I had learned from the Mexican banditos and Armenian mobsters that dissolving a corpse in sulphuric acid more or less made it unidentifiable unless there was DNA residue.
    
      With telekinesis, I didn't even need to physically touch anyone to dispose of them. Or, I could've just seized their minds and have them immerse themselves in a tub filled with acid. Gruesome, but effective.
    
      Luckily, saner and more rational thoughts came through, and I contacted the Contra Costa County Sheriff's office to file a complaint. As Red Rock's new owner, I didn't like trespassers. Unlike the previous owner, I cherished my privacy and property. Deputies made the arrest, and I had to go about the residence in a completely different fashion to avoid having my place wrecked by pissed off eco-terrorists.
    
      If I was confident the agency may not have an idea I owned Red Rock before, there was no way to hide it now due to the police report. I didn't sense that Cox knew about my latest purchase when we met a few weeks later. If the agency knew about my new purchase, they were keeping Agent Cox in the dark. If that were the case, the burly agent was simply a "dropbox" for his higher-ups; through Cox, the agency could interact with me without endangering itself.
    
      Ultimately, Red Rock was nothing more than a speck of sedimentary rock (very dense sedimentary rock) mixed with maganese (which gave it its red color) in the middle of the ocean. I needed to keep it from wearing away too fast, so I had contractors encase the windward side of the island in two to three inches of concrete (this was mixed with colored sand to let the island retain its reddish hue).
    
      On the leeward side, I planned the construction of a reinforced concrete and wood pier where boats could dock. It would protrude out from the middle of the eastern beach. While it was sturdy (and serviceable) I didn't plan on ever using it -- I planned to fly there in the dead of night.
    
      A ramp (again, concrete) was planned along the rough pre-existing trail. However, the trails only existed on the east and north sides. Half of the west side was nearly a gradual drop-off into the ocean, and its other half was a small slim beach filled with debris. The south side of Red Rock narrowed and sloped sharply into the sea, with only a tiny rock spire marking the tip.
    
      The top of the island was at odds with the project I had in mind, and it had to be partly leveled (that's what got the activists all riled up). I didn't waste the excavated materials though. The dirt and rock that was removed were pushed to the northwest side as a storm barrier.
    
      The residence was the hardest thing to design. Because of the new seismic safety rules, I couldn't build a replica of my favorite house (Le Corbusier's Ville Savoye in Poissy, France) without doing some serious pile-driving. Doing that would've cracked the rock, and reinforcing the stilts with the steel framed cagework as I had at my 43rd Avenue condo would've wrecked the design's aerie-like aesthetic.
    
      So, I had to settle for a completely different kind of building, although it retained much of the Modern-International style I loved. It's been called many things by critics and admirers alike: Spire House, Top Hat, Ship's House, Ship's Bridge, Zebra House, and even ugly, but to me the house on Red Rock was always just that -- House on Red Rock.
    
      Outwardly, the house didn't look like a residence. From the south side, it appeared to be a bunch of black coils around a large roughly rectilinear structure. The black coils were essentially Shawn's solar wall but vastly improved. Instead of having it do drainage and collecting sunlight, it focused only on solar power collection and the tubes were much, much thinner.
    
      Where there were windows and openings, a column of standard photo-voltaic cells were embedded above and below and linked to Shawn's system. These cells were modular and replaceable -- forerunners of today's modular solar panels.
    
      This of course, meant the southern facade had to best serve its function: to collect what scarce sunlight there was in the foggy San Francisco Bay. To do that, it was a generously curved and canted at a slight angle. This curve matched the path of the sun as it rose and set, even in winter time.
    
      Inset into this "football" footprint was a cylindrical space that poked through the two-level main structure. The third level of the central "tower" (as some critics had described it) was gentrified mix of family room, lounge, and observation deck topped with a tilted panel of solar cells similar to the ones used on the south facing.
    
      The sloped roof was securely tied down in case of strong winds. The tower's top had ventilation windows on the north side to let hot air out during summer months. The top lounge of course, opened to the rooftop of the main building. This rooftop was as sturdy and as sure-footed as my first building but the walls consisted only of wire reinforced curved glass.
    
      Under that wondrous sunny space were the living, eating, and sleeping spaces for about a family of four and two guests (I was unsure how many children I would have at the time). In any case, this was a stretch to house six adults on a deserted island (one could easily triple that for emergencies).
    
      Aside from the septic tank that allowed for non-biodegradeable waste, there was a system of recycling the "white" water used for showers, dish washing, and the drinking tap into "gray" water for irrigating the landscape.
    
      I planned to have replaceable batteries to store the energy collected during the daytime; there were even customized socket connections for specially designed exercise bikes and treadmills. These could be used to generate energy for use later (you'd have to ask our electrical engineer Miriya Gasser about that -- those machines were her design and let her keep that ass of hers tight; you can bounce quarters off her butt).
    
      This fusion of technology, function, and the inhabitant's mindset was the founding seed of my own theory of environmental design.
    
      Spatially, the house was partly a rich man's showcase and partly a home, much like the Edgar Kaufmann Residence at Bear Run, Pennsylvania (Falling Water by Wright, 1964). A main public concourse ran through from the "tower" to the front of the house where the black coils were. I didn't have anything in mind when it came to a main entrance and simply designed two -- one was pragmatic and utilarian while the other was a little more osentatious.
    
      It would take a bit, but Gracia (who had done interiors but felt confident enough to expand into landscaping for a laugh) made the grounds around the house a bit more appealing.
    
      Of course, all this was just on paper -- or the pier was anyway. While all of the planning was already done by the middle of 2007, the project was in bureaucratic hell. The state's national park system was fine with private property bordering protected land (the whole San Francisco Bay was considered protected); however, that meant I couldn't do much construction around the island unless I went through a bunch of commissions, panels, and hearings. It was like a method to prevent a land-owner from developing his property without actually saying so.
    
      I was personally pissed, but there was little I could do. There were too many people and things involved; I wasn't able to pin-point and control key personnel without seriously devoting time-off to maintaining it all. And this time, I wasn't building on a lot in a city; it was a goddamned island and everyone (and the agency no doubt) was looking over my shoulder and watching my every move.
    
      So, while I could build on the island's interior, I had no way of getting there (apart from chartering a chopper or using rubber dinghys) because I wasn't able to construct a pier for boats to dock.
    
      I waited and brooded. And while I brooded, I went on working on the design's interior with Gracia. Of course, Gracia was lagging on her design because the two of us were being picky about materials that were modern, affordable and readily available.
    
      Another reason for the frustration was due to Gracia having a difficult time keeping Red Rock a secret, chiefly because she and Janet were on such good terms. It was not as complicated as one imagined. Andrew (my little brother) was dating Gracia's little sister, Sachiko.
    
      Although Janet had met Gracia before when the latter was working on the 43rd Avenue condo, the two quickly formed a good friendship on their own. After Andrew and Sachiko announced their engagement in 2007 (their undergraduate studies having been completed), Janet found common ground with Gracia -- both were professional, career-minded women.
    
      The only difference was that Janet was with me, whereas Gracia was still single. This of course, did not go unnoticed by my sharp-eyed First.
    
      "Have you ever thought about her?" Janet brought it up one time after we had finished.
    
      "Thought about who?" I shivered as she slid her smooth thighs over mine.
    
      "Gracia," my First said in a hushed whisper.
    
      "No." I chuckled, thinking she was making a joke. "I picture either Gong Li or Kwan Chi-Lam* when they were twenty." [* Cantonese: actress Rosamund Kwan, from various Hong Kong dramas, romances, and comedies. Most Westerners are more familiar with Gong Li from her roles in 'Memoirs of a Geisha' and 'Curse of the Yellow Flower', both films were geared towards international release.]
    
      "That's not what I meant." Janet nipped my ear. "I mean, what do you think of Gracia?"
    
      "She's cool," I said absently. I was starting to nod off when I remembered something. "Ah, yeah. Have to call her tomorrow to check out a new vendor."
    
      "You fan-tung*." [* Cantonese: Idiot. A word play on rice tub or container] I felt Janet's fingers grope me lewdly. "I meant this. What does this guy think of Gracia?"
    
      "Wait, what the hell?" I sat up and looked at her. "Is this the Janet I know? You weren't taken over by a space mutant were you?"
    
      "Oh, it was just a thought," she said demurely. "I was speaking -- hypothetically -- that you could --"
    
      "Could what?" I eyed her warily.
    
      "You know what I'm trying to say." Janet grinned sheepishly.
    
      "With Gracia?" I gave her a look of distaste. "All while you still have problems with Rachelle?"
    
      "Is this the Stanley I know?" she said as she squinted at me. "You don't sound like yourself. Especially when I'm practically giving you the chance to score!"
    
      "Listen, Gracia's excitable and a bit scatter-minded," I said, "That's why she's a good decorator. I like working with her -- I just don't like hanging around her."
    
      "Holy shit," Janet sighed and flopped down on the bed next to me, "I can't believe you said that."
    
      "Well believe it." I scratched her knee gently, "Besides, I don't think Sachiko would like it if I was fooling around with her sister."
    
      Never mind the "I think" part, I thought. Heck, I knew. Sachiko wasn't particularly happy when Andrew revealed how many nieces and nephews he had. The young psychiatry student's eyes went wide when she learned all those kids were fathered by me and by different women.
    
      "So you do have limits." Janet teased me and kissed my shoulder.
    
      "Amazing but true." I knocked heads with her gently.
    
      "Wow," she said airily, "Wait 'till Gracie hears this."
    
      "Hey!" I gave her thigh a not-so gentle slap. "You shut up!"
    
      "Did you just tell me to shut up?!" Janet slapped me back as she scooted to the edge of the bed, "Dai dahm-a lei*!" [* Cantonese: Oh you're full of daring-do!]
    
      I grabbed her by the leg as she was trying to get away. Janet gave a startled cry when I dragged her back under the covers and tickled her until she was laughing so hard she was crying.
    
      "Stop! Stop!! STOP!!" she howled. Janet could barely utter anything else as I cheerfully molested my obnoxious First. I rested on top of her petite, little body.
    
      "Get off of me, you big lug." Janet squirmed to no avail. "Lei haido hah-wo*." [* Cantonese: You're just a big bully.]
    
      "Oh, you just need to be taught a lesson." I nuzzled her neck. "If I can't trust my wife with secrets, then who can I trust?"
    
      "Let's see." Janet ticked off her fingers."There's Melanie. Viktoriya. Shawn Ellen --"
    
      "And a smart alec, eh?" I growled and silenced her with a kiss.
    
      Janet groaned as I pressed my soft body against hers. Twenty years was a long time for many people, but I loved my First as much, if not more, after all that time. I remembered her sweet teenaged body. I remembered how attractive and exciting it was for me despite her relative pudginess and stocky body. I thought I was one of the luckiest guys on the planet to have landed such a smart, sexy girl who was as in love with me as I was with her.
    
      Jan was not simply "the first wife" but much more. While she specialized only in civil business law, her career was taking off. She had a wide network of connections through her working contacts. If that wasn't scary enough, she was also the one who had forgiven me three times for my infidelities: first with Melanie, a second time with Rachelle, and a third time with Jamie _and_ Rachelle. If that wasn't enough, I didn't know what was.
    
      Still, I had my own bad habits. I didn't gamble anymore because the one time I did, I got carried away and got mixed up in something that put people I cared for in danger. I also came away with a new woman to call my own (Jamie). I kicked my smoking habit when Faraz and Ghandia announced their engagement. With my best friend dead, I saw little point in reviving a habit we both shared.
    
      Unfortunately, I was still addicted to pussy. That was a habit I had little incentive to kick. In Rosalind, I found she was not only an eager dealer, but she was an eager beaver as well.
    
    ===============================================================================
      FANTASY ZONE
    ===============================================================================
    
      "You sure about this?" my little brother Andrew asked nervously as we neared our destination.
    
      "Actually, I was going to ask you that," I replied casually as I parked the rented mini-van by the curbside.
    
      "Sure I guess so." Andrew's fingers tapped his knee nervously. "I mean I should be right?"
    
      I gave him a half-hearted shrug as we waited for our passengers. Okay, it was a little crazy. It was only two months since I had had a five-way with Rosalind and her friends. Between that, I'd been a bit busy here and there, but I was most proud when Andrew and Sachiko announced that they had plans to wed.
    
      Actually, it was all perfect since the two lunk-heads had been dating for nearly five years. What disturbed me though, was Andrew never really hit it off with another girl. Oh, he talked with them for sure -- don't get me wrong, he wasn't an introverted freak -- but he never had the chance to score with other women. Sachiko was his first, but the reverse was not true: she had been very intimate with her two previous boyfriends.
    
      I saw Andrew was being willingly sucked into a new life by a rather strong-willed Sachiko. And why wouldn't he? She was his first real long-term girlfriend (like my Lady Wu was for me) and who was quickly becoming the center of his life. There was a difference though.
    
      Like Janet, I too had experimented sexually with other partners (okay, so some became permanent -- sue me). But in Andrew's case, not only lost his virginity to Sachiko, he hadn't been with more than one woman.
    
      To me, that was unhealthy. I sensed he was being both belittled and bullied. On that topic, Sachiko thought herself to be better than my little brother, and unconsciously treated him so. It was probably the first, but perhaps not the last, time I mind-read Andrew to check up on his mental well-being.
    
      So, I was going to fix that. I started the ball rolling when I called Rosalind up and asked if the girls would be willing to make some spare change. Of course, the answer was a resounding, "Yes!"
    
      I wished them all good luck on their finals and urged them to try and achieve at least a 3.50 GPA (they all thought I had an academic fetish); everyone managed to do so with the exception of Kimberly, who eked by with a 3.30. Still, it wasn't really a requirement. I just didn't want them to stray from their academic (and future) careers. So, the weekend after the last day of final testing, I arranged to have the girls meet me for a Memorial Day Weekend of debauchery.
    
      "And I'm bringing someone else along," I added, "My brother, Andrew."
    
      I heard some, "Ooohs" and "Aaahs" in the background. I sensed Rosalind was suspicious, but she gave me a positive audible response. She practically had to. Her Pell Grant didn't come through (her family was too well-off) and that little stunt of hers in March had played havoc with her expenses. Additionally, several things came to fore that let me splurge a bit.
    
      First, I had done some anti-pirate wet-work in the Indian Ocean as a favor to Kari. Her childhood friend's parents were on a yacht hijacked by pirates working off the east coast of Somalia. They were cruising north of the Seychelles when they were nabbed.
    
      While Galen and Kari were formidable on their own, that particular band was rather well-equipped and Tseng was not at their beck and call. For settling that small nuisance, I got a tip on where I could grab some more loot without disrupting Galen's and Kari's relationships with African warlords.
    
      Of course, those two wouldn't pay me -- money was just a means to an end. For citizens of the invisible empire, knowledge and information were our coin. I was fine with it. In exchange for my assistance, I nabbed a small shipment of white gold from some rather rough looking 'normals'. I also got to feed dead pirates to the sharks. It was all pretty cool.
    
      Secondly, my agency work was also profitable despite my dislike of Cox and his cronies. NSA-PSI called me up one weekend, flew me out to Guantanamo Bay, and I had a mind-to-mind with the newest batch of their tougher customers. Instead of being physical, I generally asked them to spell their name, tell me of their parents, etc. You know. Banal shit. I'd write it all down on their dossiers (inking out corrections in red) and then shaking their hand.
    
      Of course, that's when the interrogation would take place. I still didn't know any Arabic (apart from asking Ami to let me stick into her ass and then her mouth while she nodded eagerly, and she only taught me that to prank Faraz when we were younger) but the imagery and faces I got were handy. My skill in doing impromptu pencil sketches also helped.
    
      So, I didn't think of it when I offered each of Rosalind's friends (and the Korean cutie herself) a cozy ten grand (each) for three days and two nights of their time. If you thought $40,000 for four girls and three days was crazy, you didn't know much about the sex business. Considering the going rates of escorts at the time, I was getting a fair discount.
    
      Of course, I picked out what I thought would be the best place to have fun -- Red Rock Island. While there wasn't any house there _per se_ there was a semi-permanent Quonset Hut used for emergency shelter by the workmen (who were, of course, off that long weekend so I skipped on paying overtime). In there were basic amenities like temporary showers and toilets.
    
      At the last minute though, I re-thought my plans. I didn't want the girls to get the wrong impression, and I certainly didn't want them to know I owned my own goddamned island. They might get ideas (like blackmail me) and while I was sure I could deal with that quietly, I had enough problems already.
    
      Instead, I rented a small quaint cabin on the shore of Lake Hennessey in the Napa Valley. It wasn't one of those log cabin dealies, but a modern thing complete with modern amentities (like satellite television, refrigerator, and running water). Initially, I was also looking to get a little more for my money's worth by asking Melanie's brother Yu-Wah (now just called Anthony) to join in. He was just starting college, single, and (unsuccessfully) seeing other girls left and right on Facebook and MySpace.
    
      While I had some measure of pity for Anthony, I wasn't all too sure if he'd be able to keep his mouth shut. If his older sister Yu-Ching was any indication, he'd probably run his mouth off with the latest gossip just to make some noise. I decided against letting him know anything at all and stuck with just Andrew instead. He was my brother after all. In any case, I was sure Melanie was cooking up schemes to set her own brother up with friends in her network.
    
      Besides, I had my work cut out for me. Andrew was a bundle of nerves. He wasn't sure how things would go. Apart from my suggestion that he lie to Sachiko's face that he was unavailable that weekend, he was at a total loss of what to do. That all went away when the four girls slipped out from their building.
    
      His eyes bugged out and his jaw dropped as they approached. The four girls each wore shorts and tank tops. All had sunglasses, hats or caps, and travel bags. I had suggested that it would be quite a weekend and they certainly dressed for it.
    
      "Hi Stan!" Rosalind waved excitedly. I smiled and waved back as Kimberly blew me a kiss Rosalind didn't see. I turned to Andrew and nodded.
    
      "After you help them with the bags, take the back seat," I said quietly, "Just like I told you. Smile and enjoy yourself."
    
      My little brother gulped and quickly got out of the van.
    
      "Hi, I'm Andrew." I watched him fight to keep himself under control. "Lemme help you with that."
    
      "Oh thanks!" Kimberly saddled him with her bag and hopped into the front seat, right next me.
    
      "Don't mind her," Sasha said acidly, "That's Kim. Not a care in the world."
    
      Aside from the cabin, I rented a mini-van for the trip. My car wouldn't have held everyone anyway and I wasn't using one of the family's vans; if someone accidentally left something in the car, it would've been damning.
    
      Once we were packed, we drove about an hour through the quaint city of Napa in the so-called "wine valley". We stopped for gasoline and a leisurely lunch at one of the many diners nestled amongst the vineyards.
    
      I studied and pinged my party lightly. Andrew certainly was still high-strung, but he was becoming more at ease as the girls asked him questions. He spoke well enough after I gave him some pointers. If Andrew talked, he stuck to his work, his school, his hobbies, and his likes. However, I also told him to listen to the girls and to tailor his chat to their lives.
    
      "Women love that shit," I had joked with him earlier, "How does Sachiko stand you anyway? And aren't you supposed to be the talker? You're studying psychology for fuck's sake. You should be giving me lessons."
    
      "I don't think you need lessons." My brother regarded me with envy, "I still can't believe you have six wives."
    
      "Yeah. About that," I became defensive, "Keep all that under wraps. Don't talk about Sachiko or my business either."
    
      "I'll try and remember that," Andrew replied slowly.
    
      Of all the girls, I knew Andrew wanted desperately to fuck Sasha. Unlike last time, she wore her hair in a single braid this time. With her beret, she appeared very coquettish save for her facial expression. It made her look lewd even if she wasn't acting that way. Must be something with Russian women that turn the Brothers Chen on so much, I thought as I pinged Viktoriya.
    
      'Stanislav!' My Slavic siren greeted me with a yawn. 'Where are you? You've been so busy, I've spoken more to Milhail on the phone than you!'
    
      'Been busy, honey.' I thought-spoke as Kimberly gave me the eye. I felt her foot brush ever-so deliberately against my calf. Rosalind popped a French fry into my mouth.
    
      'Very busy.' I patted Rosalind's thigh while smiling at Kimberly.
    
      It was a risk I was willing to take. Viktoriya was looking through my eyes using mind-sight to see what I was doing. By selectively remembering and blocking parts of my consciousness, I was able to have my Baltic beauty see only what I wanted her to see: Andrew was alternately speaking and eating his fries and mushroom burger.
    
      'Just you and Andreas?' I saw Viktoriya wrinkle her nose at the mirror. 'Where are Janna, Dumbo, and the others?'
    
      'At home.' I told the truth and decided to bring up a serious matter. 'Milhail hasn't seen you in a while with your competitions overseas.'
    
      'I know.' I saw her naked breasts heave with a silent sigh. 'Cristobel sprained an ankle.'
    
      'In Marcello's company?' I teased her. 'Or in yours?'
    
      'With me.' Viktoriya seemed downcast. 'I slipped during practice and would've broke my head if he hadn't caught me. Poor dear, he's in a cast now.'
    
      'Uh-oh.' I broadcast my sympathy reservedly. 'So what now?'
    
      'I -- I don't know.' Viktoriya gazed deep at her reflection in the mirror, looking for answers in her own eyes. 'I don't know kisa. I'm scared.'
    
      I sensed her fear. Cristobel must've known it as easily as I did. Viktoriya feared never being able to continue participating in her one passion. I never danced well enough (even with telekinesis, it took concentration) to be her partner in competition.
    
      With the Italian stallion, Viktoriya certainly turned heads of both sexes when she hit the floor. Theirs was a solid relationship based on hard work, trust, and shared passions (dancesport and hot guys).
    
      With Cristobel's current injury, Viktoriya was torn. She felt like she had done it deliberately to remove herself from dancing so she could move back to San Francisco and be with Milhail. She certainly wasn't able to take care of him alone while she went to work each morning at the institute or travelling to competitions in different countries.
    
      Now, as much as ever, I felt I could broach the subject with her; however, I had other things on my plate at the moment.
    
      'Can I get back to you later?' I kicked myself inwardly for ending our mind-link. 'I'll grab you later okay?'
    
      'Maybe.' I saw Viktoriya sniffle and compose herself. 'Freya and I are going to drop by Cristobel's tonight. Cheer him up and see how he and Marcello are doing.'
    
      'Nothing too crazy now.' I thought-spoke with worry, remembering what happened in Italy.
    
      'Oh it's just a visit, kisa.' Viktoriya's sardonic grin coupled with her shaking head put me at ease. 'I can't believe an old pervert like you fathered our son.'
    
      'Takes one to know one.' I swigged the rest of my lemonade and blanked her out. I could sense my dusky Russkie was miffed at not getting in the last word. I knew she'd find a way to get back at me the next time.
    
      "Hey Stan," Rosalind nudged me, "Ready to go?"
    
      I blinked and saw the others were wiping their mouths, taking a last drink, and pushing their plates aside. I nodded, waved for the check. We were back on the road and arrived at the cabin about thirty minutes later.
    
    ===============================================================================
      CABIN FEVER
    ===============================================================================
    
      Napa is a great place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there. Actually, this applied to the whole of Napa Valley, from Calistoga all the way down (south) to the start of the Napa River. The valley was more of an agropom (Russian for 'agricultural production and manufacturing') than a community. The only differences were that Napa Valley vinyards were privately owned, American flags flew everywhere, and Hispanic farmhands worked the fields instead of Russian serfs.
    
      The cabin the six of us lived, slept, and fucked in was in a small town called Oakville, which was a few miles from the city of Napa. We went down there once for a day of quiet fun when we wanted to see what small town America was like. Andrew and I had grown up in cosmopolitan San Francisco, where every 2 out of 5 people were Asiatic or Mongoloid.
    
      We never felt like a minority when we were children. Rosalind and her three friends, Alexia, Kimberly and Sasha were all born and raised in San Jose. The six of us found it quite interesting to see a town with a population of merely a thousand going about their business. All in all, an interesting trip!
    
      The cabin was by a small body of water called Lake Hennessey. It wasn't a fishing lake, so Andrew and I had packed some jerked venison, some sweet rice, and yams. Considering breakfast, we also brought along some fresh bread, a few jars of jelly but no peanut butter for fear the girls were allergic to nuts. The first day had gone pretty well. Andrew took Sasha, Kimberly, and Alexia to the lake while Rosalind helped me out with some light house-cleaning.
    
      Afterwards, we headed out and enjoyed the rest of the day around the cabin, playing peek-a-boo around trees, talking about aboreal architecture, and generally flirting. We came back right before the sun started going down. Sweaty, grimy, and a little worked up from our hike, Rosalind and I took to the shower then enjoyed a sweet pre-dinner fuck. In fact, she and I were still going at it when the others came back from their evening swim.
    
      When night fell, we had a quick bite to eat before we started the ball rolling with some stories and more chatter. Andrew worked up the courage to walk the girls through an exercise he had read about in his textbooks.
    
      "Okay, okay." He grinned and gestured his hands like a motivational speaker, "I want all of you to close your eyes and picture yourself walking along a forest path."
    
      "Like what were doing earlier?" Alexia giggled shyly and my brother's grin grew wider.
    
      "Yes, like that," Andrew replied and continued, "Now along this path, you see something on the ground. As you near it, it's a key. What material is it?"
    
      "Metal," Sasha said promptly.
    
      "Whoa. Sssh," Andrew hushed her, "Keep the answers to yourselves for now, okay? We'll reveal it after this is over."
    
      "Gotcha."
    
      Andrew scowled lightly but went on, "Okay you take this key and continue down the path and you come across a cabin. The key fits the door, so you open it. The first thing you see is a table. What's it's shape?"
    
      I flicked my eyes at the four young women and saw a few faces wearing thoughtful expressions. No one answered aloud though. Andrew was pacing the floor as his voice rose a little bit.
    
      "Okay, you've had enough of this table," he said, "You open the door to the cabin's garden. There's a big pond out back and there're geese there. How many do you see?"
    
      I sensed the girls' answers but said nothing as my brother waited a bit before he continued.
    
      "Now surrounding the cabin's garden is a well-built fence," Andrew rubbed his fingers under his chin, "How high is it in relation to you? Can you peer over it? Or through it?"
    
      When sufficient time had passed for the girls to decide, he continued his narrative.
    
      "Now, you're going back into the cabin. You go past the table you saw earlier and head out the front door." Andrew paused for breath. "When you open the door, you find that the door opens, but you cannot step outside. Something is preventing you from going outside or heading back inside the cabin."
    
      My brow arched a bit; was it possible my brother suspected my gifts? I waited patiently, then realized it was part of his exercise. I was a bit too skittish for my own good.
    
      "Outside the cabin, you see all the people you've ever known." Andrew's gaze swept from girl to girl, studing their faces. "They're simply gazing back at you but not saying anything nor can you communicate with them. How do you feel?"
    
      "Ooh. Creepy," Rosalind gave up at being quiet and shuddered slightly as she spoke, "So are you going to tell us what our answers mean, mister psychologist man?"
    
      Andrew grinned and explained the answers: the key represented how a person viewed material wealth; metal being the most common answer would be treated as, "wealth is necessary as part of survival". The table represented how someone viewed his relationships with strangers and other people.
    
      A round table meant the person was open and accessible to new people whereas a rectilinear table meant an individual had certain rules about privacy -- my table was ovoidal and my darlings were taking turns dancing on it whilst blasted.
    
      For the geese (or ducks, or swans) in the lake, that meant how many personal and close friends or acquaintances a person had. Some -- like Alexia -- saw only two or three birds, while others -- like me -- saw a half dozen geese and nearly double that number of goslings. I smiled inwardly as I thought about my wives and children back in the city.
    
      The height of the garden fence was a measure of how one saw oneself in relation to others around him (or her). A fence one couldn't see over could be construed to mean a person was underestimating himself. A short fence (or in the case of one answer Andrew heard in class, no fence but just a dirt track to mark the garden's boundaries) may be taken to mean that a person viewed himself as overly important.
    
      For me, I saw a bit over the fence's tops, but I blamed that image on the short fence Andrew and I had built with our father at the old house. Still, it was comforting to know that I saw my darlings -- gifted or not -- as peers.
    
      Finally, the part about the gathering of friends and "people you know" was how one viewed one's death. The girls were thoughtful and shared their answers (it ranged from 'creepy' to 'weird'). I was probably the only one a bit disturbed by the explanation although I didn't show it. I had cheated death numerous times in various locales.
    
      If I hadn't been gifted, I would've been dead many times over. But that wasn't what irked me. What got to me were the looks of grief on each of my darlings' faces as I imagined the scene.
    
      I had experienced the cold, numbing shock and fear from Janet after my close brush with death at the bank robbery years ago. Viktoriya's naked fears had also come through when she thought I had been buried alive when I tried clearing the site at 43rd Avenue.
    
      In Japan, I tasted Shawn's brief flicker of fear when I grappled with the maniac swordsman in the Shibuya; only later, after Kady was born did the incident come up again.
    
      My muffin and I moving things around to fit a crib for the baby when an old album surfaced with photos of our brief time together in Japan. She took one look at the photos and started crying so uncontrollably, I had to take our infant daughter for fear she'd drop her.
    
      Although I was probably never in any real danger, Shawn's imagination (coupled with her estrangement with -- and recent death of -- her father) pushed her emotions over the edge.
    
      It was this shared fear of being widowed that dwelt in the minds of my loves after each birthed their respective children. Janet had kept quiet about my hasty trip to New York City the day of the attack (to personally check on Viktoriya).
    
      However, after the marriage, the bigamy suit, and the kids, it slowly got out to the others that I was doing "contract work" for the government. In a post 9/11 world, the term "contracting" became increasingly connected with mercenary work.
    
      Even though my role at NSA-PSI was support, the simple fact that I might be in harm's way put the fear of God in each of my six treasures. Their fears only heightened after Janet invited me to come along to the gun-range with some of her co-workers. I generally refrained from any obvious display of skill or prowess (save in the bedroom or the design studio) but when it was my turn on the firing line, I instinctively fell back on my training.
    
      Before the previous shooter had taken his seat, I had loaded, fired, and cleared my weapon. Although my score was nearly perfect, Janet was not impressed. Instead, she was ashen-faced the whole ride back.
    
      Only when I calmed her down did some color return to her face. Janet thought it was government training, although Viktoriya suspected otherwise. My Russian bride put on a brave face, for she knew I was likely trained by a man who I suspected of murdering her half-sibling.
    
      Of course, that didn't help matters along. While Viktoriya never imposed limitations on my engagements with Tseng, she exacted a promise from me -- that I'd never walk into a warzone, no matter how much I was being paid.
    
      'I don't care how much you could make.' It came up again that very night I was at Lake Hennessey. Her gaze bore into mine through her reflection in her mirror. 'I would rather have a poor husband than to be a rich widow, understand, dorogoi?'
    
      'Yes, milenky.' I thought-spoke with a dour note.
    
      'DON'T LIE, STANISLAV!!' Viktoriya's thought-speak approached a fevered pitch. 'I know what you think you can do, you show-off! Don't think I won't fly back and sock you in your bony old behind!'
    
      'I understand.' I thought with resignation. 'I'll be careful.'
    
      Viktoriya vented until her flatmate, Freya, came back. Personally, I thought she was just angry over a lot of things. Aside from the latest frustration from Cristobel's injury, Milhail was bonding more with Janet and Melanie than with her. I also sensed whatever sexual attraction Viktoriya had for the blonde rhythmic gymnast was either starting to wane, or being eclipsed by other matters.
    
      Still, I knew my Cossack bride to be both impetutous and strong-willed. She was also gifted like me. I wouldn't dare to apply any of my gifts on her mind. Viktoriya had to decide how she wanted to live her life -- not I.
    
      I pushed all of these thoughts and worries out of my mind. It threatened to wreck the mood I was trying to set. After Andrew's little exercise, I brought out some limes, lemons, and a variety of liquor. The girls couldn't legally drink (being only nineteen). But then again, I knew they wanted to.
    
      Things quickly got busy when Andrew and the girls got blasted doing shots off each other's bodies with music blaring from an iPod and a set of mini-speakers (the cabin was stocked with a solar battery that could power small devices and the indoor LEDs).
    
      Despite the alcohol, Andrew felt studly enough to tackle Sasha, rip her bodice off, and started licking her tits. Kimberly whooped drunkenly as she grabbed my crotch and stuck her tongue down my throat. It became more or less a general orgy after that, with my brother and I taking turns at each of the four girls.
    
      Regardless of the relationship I had with Rosalind, it was not strong enough for me to care if Andrew stuck his dick into her mouth and ass while I was doing the same to her friends (and in the same room).
    
      My little brother may have been younger, more physically attractive, and maybe even more virile than I was, but I had experience on my side. I held back cumming while Andrew pretty much slaked his lust first on Sasha, then Kimberly, and lastly on Alexia. By the time he wanted to do something with Rosalind, he was too tired to get it up, and wound up cuddling with Alexia in front of the fireplace.
    
      With Andrew snoozing, I had to pick up his slack and work a bit more to satisfy the girls. I went at them in sequence: Kimberly, Sasha, Rosalind, and then Kimberly again, and finally on Rosalind a second time. With Andrew seemingly content with Alexia, I emptied my lust over Rose's perky breasts and called it a night.
    
      The next day, we showered, dressed, and headed into Oaksville for some supplies and sight-seeing. Andrew and the girls (not I) drank a little a local wine and cheese festival (it was fortunate no one asked for their identification to prove they were 21). Everyone had a good time, taking pictures and goofing off.
    
      I also noticed a few things: Rosalind began walking with me hand-in-hand and didn't try to draw Andrew's attention if she could avoid it. Andrew though, seemed utterly focused on pretty Greco-Asiatic Alexia. However, he didn't deny himself with Kimberly or Sasha back at the cabin. In fact, my brother had those three girls in his room the entire second night.
    
      Filled with anxiety when he learned about this trip, Andrew had swiped some Viagra samples from one of Sachiko's psychiatrist friends and crushed it into a powder. He thought he didn't need it before, but after the first night, he wanted a boost. Andrew took all the samples with water right before dinner and now his appetites were unstoppable.
    
      The ruckus went on for so long, Rosalind and I slept downstairs in the living room (the kitchen was built under the two bedrooms) to get away from the noise. The dull thumping though, did put some ideas in our head. I porked Rosalind in the middle of the cabin's living room. I stayed hard and watched her bounce herself on my rigid pole until she spasmed and came.
    
      "That felt good." Rosalind kissed my chest.
    
      "Oh yeah." I squeezed her absently. "Glad you like it."
    
      My Korean cutie curled herself into ball while she lay atop me. We both could hear Sasha's cries flow into Kimberly's droning moans, and then bleed into Alexia's short, high-pitched gasps as Andrew fucked them one after another without blowing his load.
    
      "Fer Chris'sakes." Rosalind buried her head against my chest. "They're still going! I can't sleep!"
    
      "Wanna go again?" I put a warm palm on her smooth thighs. "Maybe I could tire you out."
    
      "Can you?" she looked up at me. I felt her fingers feel my withered cock. The condom had slipped off when I pulled out and my stomach was a little sticky. Rosalind didn't seem to mind as she played with my semi-hard dick.
    
      "You keep doing that and I can." I kissed her lightly. Rosalind played with me for a while, but I was earnestly exhausted. I had a lot on my mind -- not to mention keeping Viktoriya out of my business by mentally "blotting" out most of the day. The K-gal though, misread my inattentiveness for something else.
    
      "You're not angry with me are you Stan?" she finally asked.
    
      "What?" I gave her shoulder a tender squeeze. "Why would I be?"
    
      "Because I blew your brother," she said quietly, "Then let him stick it in my ass."
    
      "Well to be fair," I managed a dry chuckle before I continued, "You were leaving yourself wide open."
    
      "I'm serious!" Rosalind looked at me, "Are you mad?"
    
      "A-ni-yo*." [* Korean: No (or negative)] I kissed her forehed and rubbed her scalp, "Let's not talk about it."
    
      She settled down a bit and whispered, "Sa-rang-ham-ni-da*." [* Korean: I love you.]
    
      I didn't have a good answer for her. Thankfully, the girl fell asleep before she pestered me for one. As fun as Rosalind was, I didn't have deep-seated feelings for her. In many ways, my former student was like my dead cousin Aurora -- I had no problems fucking her, but beyond that, I felt no deep personal attachment.
    
      This was a girl, who nearly a decade ago, had a schoolgirl crush on an older man (me). Now she had done the dirty deed with a younger version of me and had mixed feelings about it. I picked up her thoughts briefly before she drifted off into sleep: 'Shit, that was weird.' 'I wonder if he thinks I'm just a common whore.' 'He treats me so good though.' 'He's like a dad I can fuck.' 'God that Andrew is hot but I kept thinking of Stanley all the time ...'
    
      Sifting through Rosalind's thoughts, I slowly realized I had to limit my physical contact with her. Although we only met briefly and on occasion, she had already developed some sort of psychic dependency, or -- worse yet -- fallen madly in love with me. I cringed at the thought. It was like Melanie or Aurora all over again. Another nagging worry came to me -- was she one of us too?
    
      Whether she was or wasn't, I was sure Janet would definitely kill me if she ever found out about Rosalind. Jamie might too. Her oldest was a mere six years younger than the little K-gal lying nude atop of me. The age gap was so close, it was icky. As I lay brooding over my current problems, something stupid I had done years ago with Jamie came back to bite me in the ass.
    
    ===============================================================================
      OLD BUSINESS & NEW AFFAIRS
    ===============================================================================
    
      It was a warm July day when the kidnapping went down. I had just returned from Las Vegas with Rachelle and Jamie. The three of us were celebrating Rachelle's raise at the Public Broadcasting Station (PBS-KQED in San Francisco). Despite Jamie's past in Vegas, she came along (the others being busy or taking care of the kids) because both she and Rachelle were "sporty" kind of girls.
    
      I should probably explain a bit -- in America, the traditional stereotypes and misconceptions about women not liking sports (and guys being totally into it) were quickly quashed by the mid-1990s through popular shows like "The Drew Carey Show" (ESPN's Erin Andrews was a post-9/11 thing). It had become "hip" for women to share interests with their boyfriends or husbands, and the sports event became something couples could share.
    
     I, on the other hand, never had much interest in any sport (except bedsports). That could explain my chosen profession (although Jules Fontana was a basketball fan and the Kosugi sisters were nuts about the S.F. Giants).
    
      Apart from Janet (who was only mildly fine with basketball because she put office bets on the games), Jamie was the only other of my darlings who was wild about sports. At first, I thought she was just trying to cozy up to me. To my surprise, I found she enjoyed the rough-housing of ice hockey.
    
      "It's so cool Stanley!" Jamie tried explaining to me, "You're gliding on ice and you have to get the puck past like ten dudes gunning for you. And it's not like that b-ball crap -- the puck's fast!!"
    
      "Uh, okay." I patted her hand and suffered through a few games. While I could have cared less about the teams or their players, I did have my fun by telekinetically flicking the puck when it suited me. Over time, I noticed Jamie's excitement rose as games became close, tense matches. So I basically had my fun by interfering with games to keep her entertained. I'm sure I really screwed the sports betters.
    
      What the hell are you looking at? No, I am NOT sorry for jerking your point spread. If you're a gambling man, go bet on something the Chen wives have no interest in -- like horse or automobile racing. That, or don't bet on sports events in the San Francisco Bay Area.
    
      Rachelle was a sports fan too, but it wasn't any sport I approved of. It was that mixed-martial arts stuff that was toned down and made legal for television broadcast in the mid-2000s. To celebrate, I treated her to a UFC (Ultimate Fighting Championship) event in Vegas. Jamie came along only reluctantly, as she was deathly afraid of bumping into someone she (or Pincelli) knew there.
    
      "Don't worry." I sought to reassure her and allay her fears. "That was a long time ago."
    
      "But still!" Jamie seemed uneasy. "Where are we staying?"
    
      "Someplace classy," I said, "I was just thinking of taking you to the Promenade."
    
      "Where?" My Asian beauty blinked with confusion.
    
      "The Deep Space Nine Promenade." I grinned and bumped my hips against hers. "Remember?"
    
      "Oh. Oh!!" Jamie brightened instantly. "I forgot."
    
      Part of the Star Trek Deep Space Nine set that CBS Corporation had leased out to a Las Vegas casino was being closed due to the lack of customers (that plus the fact it was hemorhagging money). Before it closed, I wanted to take my Trek-loving wife to check it out. So, it was just the three of us (Jillian had summer school) and we spent a brief weekend there.
    
      The clerk hardly batted an eye when she handed me the key to a double occupancy room, and the three of us headed to the lift. One guy accompanied by two beautiful women in Las Vegas hardly drew any attention. I guess people were pretty jaded in the City of Sin.
    
      The fights were held early evening, so we had a light meal then headed to the event. It was mildly entertaining, but all through the evening, I fought the urge to play havoc with a few telekinetic pranks. I was able to open my mind a bit and soak in what moves and grapples the contestants were going for.
    
      While I certainly lacked the physical training to do what those contenders could do, my gifts more than made up for it; imagine trying to detain a person who could instantly cause you to have a stroke, or break your bones with a simple thought.
    
      "That was fun!" Rachelle was all smiles afterwards as we headed back to the hotel.
    
      "Glad to hear it, sugar." I laughed and turned to ask Jamie, "How 'bout you?"
    
      "It was pretty cool," she managed a grin as she replied.
    
      It was as I suspected. The girls were watching male-dominated sports for the same reason a guy would watch women's beach volleyball or girls' gymnastics: for the sheer joy of watching the opposite sex parade and move around nearly naked. I guessed that at our very core, we all had similiarities -- men and women, citizens and 'normals'.
    
      I smiled and pulled Jamie alongside. With two beautiful women in tow, I headed for the hotel's nightclub for a little evening snack. About an hour or so later, Rachelle and Jamie had sufficiently unwound and were eager to head back to our room.
    
      The room was double-occupancy, so there were only two full-sized beds. We hadn't said anything about sleeping arrangements, although I had made plans to crash on the floor. It was normal for me -- we all slept soundly in our own beds at home anyway. So, when I hopped out of the shower, I was surprised to find the two of them lying on a single bed and beckoning sweetly.
    
      "C'mere shuuu-garr," Rachelle sang, "We got a surprise for you!"
    
      Both women grinned as they bared their mid-sections. Despite the two of them having churned out kids, both had bodies most thirty-somethings would kill for. Jamie's stomach was pretty fit after taking up her job as an IT-specialist (she often exercised and flexed in her cubicle while she watched her email and messaging windows at work).
    
      Rachelle not only shared Janet's love of biking and skating, but she also used the bars and dance pole in Viktoriya's unit to keep fit. I brightened inwardly as I reflected how Viktoriya began pestering me to watch Rachelle exercise after the mulatto asked my dusky Russkie to use the apparati in her unit.
    
      'Please Stanislav?' Viktoriya pouted into her reflection. 'I'll let you watch me and Freya fuck in return!'
    
      'I have a lot of work sweetie.' I thought back. 'But I'll try.'
    
      'Do that.' Viktoriya thought-spoke. 'Thank you, milenky!!'
    
      But back to the room in Vegas. I could see why Rachelle and Jamie had bared their tummies. They had been messing around with some lipstick and written crude messages on their bodies.
    
      "What's this? 'Tonight only: two for one deal'," I read aloud, "What the hell?"
    
      Jamie grinned shyly as Rachelle winked and said, "Oh c'mon. I know you've been staring all night."
    
      "Yeah, about that." I stepped near the nightstand to grab a tissue, "I'm really tired --"
    
      I barely got further when Jamie called out, "Get him!!"
    
      She tackled me while the mulatto grabbed and pulled me onto the bed. I fell onto the mattress with a soft crash, and felt the weight of both girls on me. Before I could protest, one of them had torn off my towel. Now, I was nude with two frisky girls grabbing and touching every inch of my body. My eyes went wide though when I saw Rachelle holding a safety razor.
    
      "What th'hell d'you think you're doing?" I asked.
    
      "Hush up," Rachelle grinned as she explained herself, "I'm tired of getting hair balls. I want you smooth down there."
    
      "What? Whoa!!" I began to protest but she silenced me with a generous helping of breast.
    
      "Spread 'em Stanley," Jamie piped up as the other girl pressed her body against my face.
    
      My sultry Asian siren had a small can of in her hand. She squirted a gob of minty white foam and tucked a towel under my ass. I did as I was ordered and Jamie lathered my crotch and groin with shaving cream. Rachelle began shaving off my pubic hair. I relaxed as the girls worked over me; it was actually pretty pleasant.
    
      "Hey, turn over." Rachelle rose and prodded me. "Time to do the back."
    
      "I better get another razor," Jamie said.
    
      I felt her hop off the bed as I rolled over on my stomach. The bed sagged when Jamie returned. I felt the girls' hands hold my ass cheeks apart as they shaved me clean and smooth. I was enjoying the feeling so much, I was getting drowsy when I felt a hard smack on my ass.
    
      "Hey wake up, you!" Rachelle growled, "All done!"
    
      I rolled off and looked down. The girls had certainly done their job. I felt pretty naked without my patch of hair. I was chilly too. I decided to step into the shower for a quick rinse while the two women cleaned up. When I stepped out of the shower, the girls were waiting for me.
    
      We wasted no more time as the three of us tumbled back into bed. Jamie loved biting, but she had also gotten quite adept at mixing kisses and loving licks. The Asian beauty sat on my chest, her bared Brazilian bush smelling faintly of perfumed soap as she ran her fingers through my hair. I reached up and gently grabbed a fistful of boobs. I rolled her nipples lightly between my fingers.
    
      Rachelle in the meantime, had forced my legs apart so she could suck my now smoothed, hairless cock. My dark-skinned darling was a cock-gobbler. She preferred taking in the whole thing (balls and all). As I heard wet, schlurping sounds come from behind Jamie, I felt my cock grow hard and erect inside Rachelle's warm waiting mouth and throat.
    
      "Uffuck." I gritted my teeth as I felt Rachelle take me completely into her head.
    
      Jamie's mouth was half-open as she cast a saucy smile my way. Seeing me so placated so I wouldn't struggle, she got up and lay beside me, kissing the sides of my head and pressing her tits against me.
    
      "Holy shit!" Jamie laughed as she glanced at Rachelle. "Girl, you got some appetite!"
    
      The mulatto mother had opened her whole mouth, encompassing my prick. Her fingers were clutching my sides for support and her eyes were watering from the effort. I reached down and grazed her temples lightly. Rachelle opened her eyes and let my cock slide out of her mouth with a wet pop.
    
      "Ugh--fuck--yeah," she panted.
    
      I felt Jamie's hot breath on my dick as she ventured down south. Watching her red tongue press heavily against the tip of my rock-hard cock was as great as it felt. Rachelle copied Jamie's technique for a short while and it took nearly all my focus to keep from zapping the two women senseless with my desire.
    
      Neither of the girls were into other women (save Jamie, and she really had to drunk to fool around) so the two of them didn't do anything out of the ordinary that they didn't do with me. However, the three of us were nude in close proximity to one another, and it was inevitable that the two women would touch one another on occasion when they grabbed me. That was what happened when the two of them briefly kissed as they sandwiched my cock between their lips.
    
      "Oh God, you're killing me," I said through clenched teeth as Jamie and Rachelle began having a tongue-fight over the tip of my dick.
    
      Hearing my cries of pleasure, both girls decided to swap techniques for a bit. Looking for something to do, I grabbed Rachelle so she was on top of me. I snurbed and licked her pussy until her slit parted slightly. I soaked in her sweet, over-powering scent of her sex and began thrusting mildly between the girls' lips.
    
      Jamie had gotten pretty wild with that lipstick, because on Rachelle's back I saw the message: 'Real meat only - no plastic!' with an arrow pointed towards her ass.
    
      That wasn't very nice, I thought as my black beauty backed her ass over my face. Rachelle groaned as she began swallowing my cock in her gaping mouth. Jay was too engrossed in biting the few portions of my balls where she could get at. She settled on taking in each of my de-nuded balls in turn and swirling it in her mouth before she popped it back out.
    
      I pressed my face hard against Rachelle's sweet chocolate ass and inhaled her musk. Had I been a lesser man, I would've shot my load right then and there. But experience had taught me to hold out for more. Slapping her buttocks, I pushed Rachelle down towards my crotch. She got the message and quickly mounted my cock.
    
      Jamie stood up and lay next to me as I fucked Rachelle. The black beauty rode me for a good five to ten minutes before she convulsed with her first orgasm. Rachelle slid off then watched as Jamie and I had our turn. Turning my Asian lovely around, I saw Rachelle had been up to no good with her graffiti as well. Scrawled on Jamie was the message: 'Cum on my back!' with a target on the middle of her back. Reading this trashy stuff, I felt my nuts beginning to ache so I quickly reached again for Rachelle.
    
      It took only about thirty seconds to get the lovely mulatto's musky fuck funk splashed all over my pulsing cock. Jamie wrinkled her nose, hopped out briefly and came back with a damp towel to wipe me off. Over the course of an hour, I alternated between my two darlings. When they tired of being on top, I took over and pumped them at a steady rhythmic pace that drove both women mad with pleasure.
    
      I happily fucked Rachelle for the umpteenth time while Jamie lay next to her exhausted and panting. Two minutes in, I felt I could cum and be satisfied. As my thrusts came out stronger and more forceful, my mulatto minx propped herself up on her elbows, spread her legs wide, and eagerly watched me slam the shit out of her.
    
      "Fuck me sugar," Rachelle hissed in my face. "Yeah, like that. You know I like you fucking me just like that."
    
      I gritted my teeth as the mulatto licked her lips lewdly. Jamie put a gentle hand on my shoulder.
    
      "C'mon you filthy bastard," my sultry Asian vixen's face wore a cute little snarl, "Blow her the hell away."
    
      I couldn't stop myself anymore as I lurched forward and came. Rachelle squealed as I barely managed to pull out of her and blasted cock vomit all over her dark tan stomach.
    
      "Oooh shit! Fuck yea!!" Jamie exclaimed with glee, "Look'it that!"
    
      Rachelle laughed as she panted and lay back to catch her breath. The mulatto minx worked the cum on her belly over her smooth chocolate skin, the messages scrawled in lipstick having rubbed off quite some time ago. Jamie kissed my shoulders, chest, and arms as she knelt beside us.
    
      "Ungh shit." I shuddered. "Uhh, fuck."
    
      "Goddammit Jay!" Rachelle laughed. "You were right. Stanley does get more turned-on when double teamed!"
    
      I shot Jamie a wry look, "So that's what you were planning all night."
    
      My Asian sweetie gave me a toothy grin and pinched me tenderly. I broke into grins too, remembering how Viktoriya and I had accidentally triggered a psychic incident that got Jamie into a three-way. It was a pleasant enough of an experience that I had joked to the sultry woman afterwards, "We should do this more often." I suppose that Jamie got it into her head that our trip presented the chance, and she discussed it briefly with Rachelle.
    
      "Well, I didn't expect that." I smiled shyly. "Some vacation, eh?"
    
      "You said it, sugar." Rachelle sat up and wiped herself with a damp cloth. "I thought you'd never cum!"
    
      I shivered with delight when Jamie kissed me on the neck and tweaked my nipples.
    
      "So, how's the super-cock?" She licked my ear lewdly then whispered. "Have enough left for round two?"
    
      I nodded and pounced on Jamie with renewed vigor. She ground her naked ass against my balls when I emptied them, splattering baby batter all over her sweaty backside. An hour later, I finished off rounds three and four as well. After cumming my final time for the night, I felt a very sharp pinching pain in my balls and winced painfully. I had suffered this malady several times before -- if I ejaculated too much, my sphincter muscle would cramp up.
    
      "Stanley?" Rachelle squeezed my shoulder tenderly, "You okay, sugar?"
    
      Jamie was straddling me and she stopped moving immediately.
    
      "Did I hurt you?" she looked at me with worried eyes.
    
      "N -- no," I put on a brave face and stroked her calves, "Just an incredible feeling that's all."
    
      "Oh." Jamie blushed crimson.
    
      "Hmm," Rachelle nibbled my ear gently then murmured, "I thought so. You seemed to be enjoying yourself."
    
      "You bet." I couldn't help but smile.
    
      I kissed both women before I rose and cleaned myself up. The hot towels felt great after an hour (and some) of uncontrolled sex. Soon, we were all ready to settle down for the night. The three of us slept with just the two linen sheets for cover. The combined body heat was more than enough to keep us warm. In fact, Jamie complained a bit about being hot and I had to turn on the air-conditioning to cool her down.
    
      "Ugh." Rachelle gathered a bit more of bedsheet, "That's too cold!"
    
      "Well I'm feeling warm," Jamie got up and tapped the other woman on the shoulder. "Wanna swap sides with me?"
    
      The girls traded sides and we got to bed around two or three in the morning. I was wiped out enough that Rachelle and Jamie had to drag me out of bed the next day so we could check out on time.
    
      We had a few hours to kill before we flew back to San Francisco, so we had lunch at the casino where the Deep Space Nine thing was set-up. It was a bit disappointing to Jamie and me both. While the place looked the part, there were no aliens and definitely no people to set the ambience.
    
      "Meh." Jamie wrinkled her nose cutely.
    
      "Sorry, Jay." I gave her wispy look. "Maybe we should've came here during the conventions huh?"
    
      "I was never one for dressing up!" She let out a quick laugh before adding, "I don't like Star Trek badly enough to do that!"
    
      Rachelle patiently browsed a nearby gift shop while Jamie and I snapped a few pictures. There were two guys passing through who were dressed as Klingons (bad ones) and I got them to pose with Jamie, me and Rachelle.
    
      I think those guys were pretty happy to have their arms around two beautiful women, even if they weren't dressed like Orion Slave Women. There was really nothing to the exhibit and we left a bit disappointed.
    
      "Maybe you can redesign my place," Jamie joked as we headed to the airport in our rental, "Make it look like the Enterprise-D's interior."
    
      "You sure?" I asked. "The Enterprise-E's the newest thing on the block."
    
      "The what?" Rachelle followed the conversation as best she could while she drove. "There was more than one?"
    
      "Yeah I'm sure," Jamie leaned forward a bit so we could chat. "Don't you remember? The Enterprise-D was destroyed in Star Trek Generations."
    
      "Um, no," my black beauty said absently as she scanned for the signs to the airport.
    
      "So, which deck?" I turned to face Jamie. "It's a huge ship and a lot of the sets were prety spartan."
    
      "I dunno," the sultry Asian beauty mused, "I agree the rooms were pretty empty, but maybe a cross between Sick Bay and Ten Forward might do it."
    
      "I agree," I nodded, "Good eye too. Sick-bay had good luminosity. Maybe I can build you something that lets you run LCARS."
    
      "Oh yeah!" Jamie brightened up, "I should install that Star Trek Windows theme when we get back! I've been dying to try it out and de-bug it."
    
      "You guys are such nerds," Rachelle looked at us so accusingly that Jamie and I both laughed.
    
      Back home once again, I was more than eager to shift gears to get back to my work at Down-To-Earth. I was thoroughly engrossed in detailing my current project to some junior designers, a CAD draftsman, and our model-maker when I felt this odd feeling of alarm and despair. I cut off so suddenly and swayed that my assistant, Pam, grabbed me by arm because she thought I was going to fall.
    
      "A--are you okay, sir?" she asked.
    
      "Yeah." I blinked and cleared my head.
    
      "I'll get you some water," she quickly hustled away.
    
      I felt an unease pass over me but as I pinged, I knew everyone in my family was alive. I excused myself to the restroom, washed my face, checking up on everyone the whole way. Viktoriya was fine; she was in Germany watching Freya prepare for an upcoming competition. Janet was in court ripping into the prosecution's witness.
    
      Shawn was downstairs in my building readying herself for a similar meeting. Jamie was was surfing Amazon.com at work while she did pilates and keeping a glance at the health of her company's network with a separate laptop. Rachelle was supposed to be at the zoo with Melanie, and she was doing okay ... sort of.
    
      Uh-oh. I froze and pinged again. Rachelle's mind was an array of images and jumbled thoughts, much like that one time I had accidentally zapped her when we were younger. Only this time, it was a lot fainter. Had I not known who Rachelle Elizabeth Hollister was, I probably would've missed her completely, or considered her dead.
    
      As I tried to determine the cause of this, my insides churned and grew cold. Melanie was with Rachelle today. They were taking some of the children to the zoo while Shawn's mother was watching the others at home.
    
      Mother Benton was also to insure that Jillian headed straight home after her summer classes let out (having been a young man myself, I knew what temptation was). Suddenly, my mobile phone rang; it displayed Melanie's number.
    
      "Yu-Ching?" I greeted her with worry, "I--"
    
      My youngest darling cut me off with a frantic cry of her own, "Rachelle's been shot!!"
    
    ===============================================================================
      TAKEN
    ===============================================================================
    
      Unlike Jamie, Janet, and Shawn, Rachelle's nine-to-five schedule gave her the luxury of predictable "off" days. This meant she could assist Melanie with the kids. On that particular day, my black beauty and Melanie took her twins, Milhail, and baby Norman to the city zoo. That's when the kidnapping went down.
    
      Melanie's first call would've been to the 911 dispatch (and not me) if not for several mitigating factors. The 911 (emergency call number) service was not integrated with the mobile phone network (only the land-line system) so the call would've been routed to a state (or province) level center about 150 miles from where the emergency occured.
    
      I'd known about this when I heard about it as a passing news item some years ago. With my contacts with local, state, and Federal level law enforcement, I was shocked that little had been done to address the issue. We all knew this (after I made light of it as part of our family's emergency preparations) so Melanie was ready to grab the payphone across the street at the surf shop.
    
      Luckily, there was already assistance on hand. A Park Ranger's car had turned from the upper Great Highway onto Sloat just as the grab occurred. Thankfully, the ranger didn't immediately draw and fire, as the women and children were in the way.
    
      However, the mere presence of uniformed police was more than enough to scatter the kidnappers. They all piled into a black van (with a taped over license plate), leaving Rachelle on the ground and Melanie in a painful daze.
    
      Rachelle wasn't shot -- instead, she was "shocked" (from a gun-shaped taser). I had mistook Melanie's blubbering as Rachelle being "shot". I breathed an immense sigh of relief when I burst into the treatment area expecting the worse, only to find my mulatto sweetie fine, healthy, and not leaking an ounce of valuable hemoglobin.
    
      The taser's needle had hit her in the thigh during the struggle. That caused her to lose both her balance and her consciousness briefly. Rachelle was physically fine, but Melanie was in bad shape. My little darling sported an angry cut across her temple and was inconsolable.
    
      "They took 'em!" she wailed, "They took 'em both!!"
    
      If the kidnappers wanted to grab the kids, they were only partly successful. Aside from baby Norman (who was just a year old), the masked men had nicked Milhail when the boy tried to fight the kidnappers. After Rachelle got zapped, Melanie put herself between the men and the twins, and got bludgeoned for her effort. Only the presence of the park ranger cut short the attempt.
    
      The kidnappers hadn't gotten away clean. When the van pulled away after Milhail was loaded, the man who had struck Melanie turned and ran. Finally seeing a clear shot, the ranger fired his weapon and injured his calf. A second shot had grazed his shoulder, spinning him around to the ground. He was quickly captured and being treated under heavy guard at the hospital where we were.
    
      "Are you the father?" someone asked me.
    
      "Yes." I turned to see a plain clothes detective studying me.
    
      "We have a few questions about --" he started but I stopped him with a wave and a brief statement.
    
      "I wasn't there." I pointed to Melanie. "She was. Ask her. She can tell you more."
    
      The detective glowered at me, but said nothing as I turned to my young darling and gave her shoulder a heartfelt squeeze.
    
      "Do your best to remember okay? Any little bit you do will help."
    
      Yu-Ching nodded quickly, her lips trembling and her whole body shaking from the shock. I pushed past the detective and the nurses. I found the Danielle, Janelle, and Rachelle being questioned by a second detective in the hallway. When the twins saw me, they both ran up and hugged my legs, talking excitedly about what they saw, much to the second detective's annoyance. I calmed the twins down and sat them down after promising them some chocolate chip cookies. I turned to Rachelle, who looked at me with great distress.
    
      "Are you all right?" I asked.
    
      Rachelle nodded then asked, "How is she?"
    
      "Just a conk on the head," I glanced at the hallway detective. I knew him through Jacob Waters when I did some extra "investigative work" for the San Francisco Police Department.
    
      "Herbert Sanders right?" I asked.
    
      "Oh, it's you Mister Chen." The detective blinked in surprise. "I wasn't aware that Miss Hollister was--"
    
      "Not now please." I stopped him with a wave, "I'm sorry to have interrupted your questioning, detective."
    
      "That's quite all right." Detective Sanders nodded, "But yes, let's finish Miss Hollister, and I'll let you go."
    
      Rachelle nodded and I left to grab the girls their promised sweets. As I walked out towards the vending machines in a daze, I bumped headlong into Jamie and Janet.
    
      "Stanley!!" Jamie rushed me headlong and nearly bowled me over with her embrace, "What the hell's going on? Everyone's in a panic!"
    
      "It's Norman and Milhail," I said dryly. "They've been taken."
    
      "Taken?" Janet's face paled several shades. "You mean kidnapped?"
    
      I nodded soberly and she was incredulous.
    
      "But why?!"
    
      "Who knows." I shrugged. "Melanie, Rachelle and the twins are being questioned by the police."
    
      "Oh God." Jamie's eyes widened. "Do they know who took them?"
    
      I caught the stern stare from Janet as I shook my head. Her eyes were pointed at me like daggers. I sensed my First was wondering if my agency shennanigans had anything to do with the kidnappings. I was almost positive it wasn't, because snatches done by the company or the agency rarely failed and almost never done in broad daylight. In the case of the heavy-hitting bagmen from the bureau (the FBI) they would have had a second operator neutralize the park ranger.
    
      No, this felt different. These guys were determined, but they were unprofessional and unprepared. I hugged Jamie while I gazed innocently at Janet. Instinctively, I shifted the blame elsewhere.
    
      I felt rotten about it, but if I did have something to do with this, then I would endanger my family if my part in the empire was revealed. I applied some little mental effort on Janet, and I managed to nudge her suspicion to the plaintiffs in her current case (some fanatic group involved in a class-action against medical insurance companies).
    
      My First was visibly unfazed, but inwardly, I sensed she was now thinking about the possibility she may have done something to warrant a special visit from some tough looking bagmen. It was certainly very odd for kidnappers to randomly target two women at the zoo. I didn't need my wives buzzing around and worrying themselves to death, so I asked about the other kids to get their minds on something else.
    
      "How about Jillian?" I asked, "It would be a good idea to check on her at school."
    
      "Shawn called when we were in the lobby," Janet quickly composed herself, "She's taking her home right now. Laura's at the house and has everyone accounted for."
    
      "Good," I replied. At least there was that.
    
      Jamie's grip on me suddenly tightened. That, plus the fact her fear was going into overdrive, got my attention. I turned to see what had started her: Jamie's eyes were fixated on the one kidnapper who had been caught. The perpetrator passed his glance over us as he was lead away in handcuffs by the police.
    
      My sultry Asian siren however, mis-read his gaze and was in a state of panic. Meanwhile, Janet fearlessly stared back at the perp; she was livid with anger. I couldn't blame her -- we were all angry. To get her mind off the bad things, I pulled out some loose dollar bills.
    
      "Hey Jan," I tapped her gently, "Would you mind getting the twins some cookies? I promised them a bag each to answer the detective's questions."
    
      "Good lord. The twins are going to eat themselves into a butterball coma." Janet made a face and took my money. "Coming Jay?"
    
      "In a bit," the Asian beauty mumbled. As Janet stalked off, I looked at Jamie who returned my gaze evenly.
    
      "Stanley? Was that one of the --?"
    
      "I think so." I gave her a reassuring grin. "Something wrong?"
    
      Nix that, I thought. Something _was_ wrong. I took Jamie by the hand to both calm her down and to quickly read her mind. Her thoughts were all over the place, so I couldn't get a fix on what she was thinking; I had to coax it out.
    
      "You know him?" I asked her slowly, "Is is something the police need to know?"
    
      Jamie swallowed hard, nodded, and whispered, "That guy, he used to work for Joey, I think. I saw him around the casino before."
    
      "Interesting." I felt my jaw click.
    
      "Stanley," Jamie pulled my arm, "I brought this on. Oh god, this is my fault."
    
      "What? Nonsense." I shook my head in disbelief, "That was nearly eight years ago."
    
      "No I don't think so." Jamie leaned gloomily against the wall, "I'm sorry Stanley. You're so nice to me and the kids, I shouldn't have just -- oh God --"
    
      "Don't worry." I held her. "We don't know the whole story. Just calm down okay? The others really need you to be strong now."
    
      Jamie sobbed quietly on my shoulder for a bit but my mind was already working overtime. My beautiful Asian darling was probably onto something. How exactly Joey Pincelli was connected made me stop and think. There were a lot of possibilities to consider.
    
      While I wasn't positive the kidnappers had anything to agency business, I had screwed over enough people that somehow, somewhere, I might've slipped up and left a clue. It was hard to pin down though -- as I never took anything or anyone back from an incident. If I did, they were simply the "package".
    
      Something inside nagged me though. I did break that rule once -- with Jamie and Jillian.
    
      My mind raced as I thought back to what I'd done in Las Vegas all those years ago. The police's involvement was already a given. If they dug up the reason of the kidnapping, they may dig up more information about me than what I cared to give out.
    
      That wouldn't be a good for me, my family, or the empire. Still, whether Pincelli's people were or weren't mixed up with this, I still needed to get our kids back.
    
    ===============================================================================
      ENHANCED INTERROGATION
    ===============================================================================
    
      About an hour later, I was down at the Sunset-Ingleside precinct in the observation area of the interrogation room. A detective was with the perp and was interrogating him.
    
      It was a slow and painful verbal process. The kidnapper was Sicilian and replied only in Italian (not English). The kidnapper could understand the detective though, but I knew he wouldn't give any of that away unless he was physically threatened.
    
      Inwardly, I counted my blessings that not many more cops would be involved. In a kidnapping case like this, a SWAT team would be readied for the rescue. As fortune would have it, San Francisco's SWAT team was called away to assist their buddies in neighboring Oakland; a routine traffic stop had turned into a firefight when the driver opened fire, downing the cops who pulled him over. Now, there was a manhunt complete with roadblocks and room-by-room searches.
    
      And so, I found myself standing beside Detective Lieutenant Jacob Waters as his man tried to press the suspect into handing over his kidnapping crew. For now, I sensed Milhail was alive and safe, although a little scared. I wasn't wholly sure about little Norman -- babies and young children were quite undetectable to a telepath until they were able to formulate solid, concrete thoughts.
    
      I suppose I could have blazed in at Milhail's location and hoped for the best. Or I could find one boy safe, and the other dead. I didn't want to take any chances.
    
      Besides that conundrum, I couldn't just reveal what I knew to anyone except Viktoriya, and I had a feeling she'd might take things too far -- and perhaps put both the family and the invisible empire in a troublesome spot. So I had to stay my hand. My gifts, for all the power they had given me, were also hampering me when it came to certain matters.
    
      And I knew time was ticking. There was no ransom so far, and I was getting tired of being treated with kid-gloves by the police. I didn't know how long it would be before the kidnappers would skip town.
    
      What would happend to the children then? I kept my mouth shut, my mind alert, and myself calm. The detective in the room had been going on for some time and the results were disappointing. I saw him walk up the one-way mirror and shift his eyes left and right twice. Nothing.
    
      Not that we needed that; both Waters and I could hear him rail at the kidnapper through the intercomm.
    
      "I haven't asked much of you have I?" I spoke so suddenly, Detective Waters nearly spilled his coffee.
    
      "No not much at all." Waters nodded in agreement as he sipped his brew. "I take it you've been busy with other things?"
    
      "The world's a dangerous place detective," I murmured firmly, my gaze never leaving the perpetrator who kidnapped my boys.
    
      "Indeed it is," the gaunt policeman's tone was hollow.
    
      "I need a favor from you Waters," I said quietly.
    
      "You've never asked before," the old detective said slowly.
    
      He was right about that. Much of his success over the past few years had been near miraculous breakthroughs in cases long thought to be cold or dead. I simply checked in on a few here and there when it suited me. It took maybe five minutes (excluding travel time) for me to determine if a suspect was lying or not about a crime.
    
      When I could, I made up some bullshit and told Waters where to look for hard evidence. Of course, I wasn't always successful. However, the occasional "win" did make Waters' record look good and he was promoted and transferred to his new posting.
    
      "I don't know if this," I gestured, "is going to compromise me."
    
      Waters' eyes widened, "Christ. You're still doing that shit?"
    
      "It's very deep extended cover," I replied airily, "I want to keep this as quiet as possible. No press and as little paperwork as you can manage."
    
      "I can always manage without paperwork." The older man chuckled before going on. "But Sanders and Richards are on this already, not to mention the Park Service. What do I tell them?"
    
      "I suppose we can meet with them after this is cleared up." I leaned towards the glass, my gaze focused on the kidnapper.
    
      Jacob Waters was silent for a bit then he said, "You want to have a go at it?"
    
      It was dangerous, I knew, to showcase how I did things. But I had little choice. I knew where Milhail was, and time was of the essence.
    
      "Do you mind if there were no records?" I glanced at Waters sideways.
    
      The old detective gauged me carefully, as if he could read minds; I knew what he was thinking: he was hesitant to trust me to do essentially what was police business.
    
      "Five minutes," he finally said, "But no more."
    
      I smiled gauntly and nodded. That was more than I needed for my theatrics. With Waters and the other detectives away "getting coffee", I stepped into the room and put on a show.
    
      The camera only caught the back of my head, it couldn't film my face from that angle. I levelled a dead stare at the kidnapper and concentrated. I pulled what information I needed out of him and by the time the detectives came back, I was outside, waiting innocently by the door.
    
      "Detectives," I said coolly, "I require your assistance in retrieving my boys."
    
      "Yeah," Richards said, "We don't know where, Mr. Chen. Please let us --"
    
      "I know where," I interrupted him with a raised hand.
    
      "What? How'd you --?"
    
      "Wait," Waters interjected, "You sure?"
    
      I nodded and the senior detective glanced at the suspect in the room. Waters was mildly surprised, but said nothing. The suspect was none the worse for wear even though he was glaring at our little group.
    
      "You're sure?" Waters repeated his question and I nodded again in reply.
    
    ===============================================================================
      RESCUE
    ===============================================================================
    
      Ten minutes later, I was sitting alongside Waters in his car. The location was actually under our noses the whole time. The van was found ditched; witnesses reported they saw some men hustle black sacks into a different car and take off towards the Excelsior district -- almost right next door to Parkside and Sunset.
    
      The Excelsior was a residential district, although I wouldn't live there. It was similar to the ghetto where Rachelle's parents had escaped from. It was only Waters, Sanders, Richards, and myself. The few uniformed police officers available were being called away to assist with the East Oakland shoot-out.
    
      "When it rains, it really fucking pours don't it?" Waters asked no one in particular.
    
      I brooded silently as we sped towards the location with no siren or lights. Secretly, I was wildly pinging and mind-hopping wildly into every presence I could find. I knew exactly what I was going to do when I found my sons' kidnappers, and their arrests were absolutely secondary. I wanted to know the people behind it. So, I sat quitely in Waters' vehicle, yo-yo-ing my focus back and forth until --
    
      Gotcha motherfucker.
    
      I had mind-sight with someone -- I didn't know who exactly -- as he (or she) was looking at Norman. Melanie's son was still in his basinette/carseat and was bawling out of annoyance. I guessed it was because he needed to change. The 'normal' whom I was linked to shifted his gaze towards his side and I saw Milhail sitting grumpily on the floor, bound, gagged and blindfolded so he couldn't make noise or see their unmasked faces.
    
      Had I been anywhere else, I would've started the fracas by dominating the man I was in. Right now, Waters, Sanders, and Richards were discussing their approach. We were just three blocks away. I brought out my phone in full view of the detectives, feigned dialing, and acted out some dialogue for their benefit.
    
      "This is Chen. Need a scan for --" I had glanced at the GPS in Waters' car of the building address I had plucked from the suspect back at the station and repeated the coordinates. "Can you give me anything?"
    
      The reply on the end was simply, "Welcome to Verizon Wireless! Please listen carefully, as our menu options have changed!"
    
      The three detectives were watching me with interest. I waited a moment and decided how I could present my information. Too much and it tipped my hand. Too little and some of us might die, or worse, my sons would. While I was fine with the keystone cops dying, it may show badly for Jacob Waters.
    
      As much as I had disliked the man when I was younger, he had grown from asset to a good "work" friend, and I'd hate to jeapordize his career for something I could've done alone and with nearly zero risk myself. I hung up my phone. That was enough acting for now.
    
      "Lots of people but it looks to be three men," I said coolly, "Armed of course. Body armor likely. Relaxed but cautious. I think they're expecting us, but not so soon."
    
      "You guys work fast," Richards eyed warily, "How good is this information?"
    
      "Trust your eyes on the ground," I said, "They're better than the ones in the air. Or from space."
    
      "True enough." Richards nodded before he and Sanders headed off down the street.
    
      "Perks of the job?" Waters asked warily and jerked his thumb skyward.
    
      "We had a satellite sailing over the city," I lied. "I borrowed one for a minute. Sue me."
    
      Waters nodded. "I didn't hear that. But if I did, I would've done the same if it were my kid."
    
      "Do you have a gun?" I asked him.
    
      "Right here," the detective lifted his arm slightly to show me his piece.
    
      "I meant for me," I said casually.
    
      Detective Waters eyed me carefully, "You're crazy if you think I'm going to let you go in there."
    
      "You'd be crazier not to." I smiled blandly and prodded the brief memory of me in Waters' bedroom holding him up with a silenced handgun nearly eight years ago. I saw the detective's face twitch. He didn't realize it was me broadcasting but he did vividly remember the incident. Still, he shook his head.
    
      "Too big of a risk," he said, "Look, let us do our jobs, Chen. I got enough to worry without covering you, even if you're with the government."
    
      I sensed Waters wasn't to be swayed. "Fine. At least give me a vest and I'll follow you. Two sets of eyes are better than one."
    
      Waters soured but popped the trunk of his Cadillac, revealing quite a mobile arsenal. I grabbed the spare Kevlar vest and donned it. The detective lieutenant shifted nervously about.
    
      "You know how much trouble I can get in for this, right?" he asked.
    
      "That's only if I get shot," I replied smugly, "But you're on point, so you'll draw their fire."
    
      "Thanks Chen." The detective slammed the trunk. "You're a goddamn comfort you know that?"
    
      I chuckled lightly but in reality, I was only dimly aware of Waters as I followed his lead. I had shifted my focus back into the kidnapper I had mind-linked to before. I got the layout of the place -- a pretty standard if run down home -- and focused on his TMP (Tactical Machine Pistol).
    
      It was a nasty piece of hardware for terrorists and urban fighting. Through the kidnapper's vision, I telekinetically set the safety to ON. I then suggested the fellow put Norman (bassinette and all) next to Milhail.
    
      Good. Now both kids were in one spot and below waist level. I hoped that was enough to keep them safe. Some chatter came over Waters' radio and he acknowledged. We started towards the house and I fell in line behind the detective. As I walked, I shifted my focus to a second presence. This was the second kidnapper, armed with a stubby little shotgun with a pistol grip.
    
      Fuck! This could get really nasty. The greatest firepower the detectives had were old M16/A2s that fired three round bursts, and those small (almost .22 caliber) 5.56 NATO rounds were not going to do much to the kidnappers. Even then, none of them were brought along because of the close quarters and the presence of hostages. I pinged for the final kidnapper and found him lying lazily on a sofa, a second TMP in easy reach.
    
      Holy fuck. We were going to get slaughtered. I quickly mind-hopped back into the shotgun carrying baddie and tricked him into thinking he had some intestinal discomfort. He grimaced a bit before he called out (in Italian) to his comrades he was going to the can. He threw something to the third kidnapper (the one on the sofa) before headed to the restroom, taking his shotgun along. Inside, he pulled his pants down and started going about his business.
    
      Focusing mind-sight on the third kidnapper, I got the number of the cellphone he had. I dropped a bit behind Waters and dialled the number, being careful to mute my end of the call. The third kidnapper nearly fell out of his lounging position and scrambled to answer it. I had gambled correctly that he was not briefed or prepared to take a call.
    
      By the time he answered, I had already hung up. That should give them something to mull over. And because my phone's number was blocked, they shouldn't be able to call me back. Still, I took no chances and put my phone on "silent". One of my darlings could call at a bad moment.
    
      My focus shifted back to the first thug. As he neared the third kidnapper on the sofa, I tipped his gun hand sloppily upwards and pulled the trigger. Shouts of alarm ran through the house from both its inhabitants and the cops closing in on it. I had deliberately aimed the first kidnapper's TMP into the left chest of the kidnapper on the sofa.
    
      I needed him alive if just for a little bit longer. The kidnapper on the sofa cried out in pain, dropping his phone and bringing up his gun arm. I spurred the notion of betrayal in that fellow's mind. Before the first kidnapper had a chance to say more, his face was riddled with bullets.
    
      "Shots fired," Waters rasped into his radio, "Shots fired! Go, go, go!"
    
      He glanced back at me and I had squatted low and was a bit away behind him. He turned back quickly and moved out sight. As soon as he did, I snapped into action. Accenting my motions with telekinesis, I stayed low amongst the unkempt weeds of the yards of neighboring houses.
    
      As I speedily made my approach to the target house, I shifted my focus from the kidnappers' minds to the kidnappers' hardware. The injured kidnapper had done his part. When he studied his fallen compatriot in shock and surprise, I lifted the dead man's TMP and emptied the magazine point blank at the third kidnapper's stomach and groin.
    
      Two of the three were downed, and by now, I had reached the side of the house. In fact, I was just on the other side of the last surviving kidnapper -- the shotgun guy in the bathroom. His abdominal pain had suddenly gone when I began the massacre in the other room. He pulled his pants back up and taken up his shotgun. Not hearing anything except the crying from baby Norman, he took position in the tub and waited.
    
      I pinged and found the cops were nearly to the door. I needed to act fast to get what I needed. I pitched myself up with telekinesis so I was horizontally parellel to the ground and slipped through the small casement window. The approach was so silent and sudden, my TK-shrouded hands were around the man's neck before he realized he was in trouble.
    
      Still, I took no chances. I slid his shotgun's safety to ON and completely blasted his mind as I made physical contact. I didn't say a word as I wrenched his head once to the side, snapping his neck. As I receded from his dying mind I picked clean his thoughts.
    
      Fortune smiled on me, because this slain kidnapper was the team's leader. I had found what I was looking for. With his memories, I began tracking back towards the source. Whoever it was, they were now living on borrowed time.
    
    ===============================================================================
      BLOOD IN THE WATER
    ===============================================================================
    
      Waters and I debriefed Richards, Sanders, and brought in that Park Ranger and his immediate supervisor. The whole thing was to be as hushed up as possible, barring any problems with the trial (considering what I could do, I anticipated few problems I couldn't strong-arm).
    
      The paperwork was light and the official reports were scanty. Absolutely no press was to be involved. This was to be a kidnapping case with few eye-witnesses, and nothing else. No conspiracy, no delving into the matter(s) behind the reason for motive. The police got one of the suspects and the others were dead. Officially, the kidnappers were hard-pressed mobsters trying to ransom money from a semi-rich couple; unofficially, it was no one's business.
    
     Of course the shoot-out could hardly be contained; a gunshot near the zoo was hard to ignore. Thankfully, around Christmas of that year, three dumb-shits drew the heat from the zoo kidnapping/shooting by getting one of their own killed by a tiger that escaped its cage. My darlings were horrified by the incident, but I was positively jumping for joy at the attention the tiger mauling was getting. It meant my family would be left alone.
    
      My boys were doing all right. Milhail and Norman were both fine. I had never seen Melanie so emotional before or since as she hugged both her step-son and birth-son and wouldn't let them go even when the nurses and doctors came to examine them. I of course, got lambasted first by Waters (for assaulting the house) and then by Janet (who was mortified at the risk I took).
    
      "Li-mui-chi gam-yeung chuet-fat wo-shum-keng dam-tui*!" [* Cantonese: Everytime you do crap like this, you give me a heart attack!] She cried and slapped me angrily afterwards. I grabbed her hand before she began hitting me in earnest, and rolled her into a bear hug. Janet sobbed as I held her, much as I did so many years ago. We hadn't fought so fiercely since she'd found out about my infidelities in '02, and now ...
    
      I guess I could've ducked out, but I wouldn't leave the kids. I had covered up the dead man in the tub as well the two in the living room before I untied my son Milhail. He was surprised to see his normally unflappable dad a bit ruffled and worried. Afterwards, things unfolded as I had predicted: Detective Waters entered no more than a breath after I untied Milhail, followed shortly by Sanders and Richards. The three found the situation neatly taken care of.
    
      "C'mon gimme a hand." I picked up Norman and set him on the kitchen table. I set Milhail to task and had him help me change his brother's diapers.
    
      "You get those bad guys, dad?" my son asked me.
    
      "The police did." I gave him a gentle pat on his head. "You can thank them later."
    
      I heard an audible snicker and knew it was Waters being pissed being left in the dark. The detectives were suspicious of course. Why would the two kidnappers in the living room blast each other?
    
      "You do a lot more than just analysis don't you?" Waters studied me carefully.
    
      I glanced at him and said stonily, "Thank you, detective."
    
      Jacob Waters nodded dourly. He understood the need for cover. Besides, he could take credit. It wasn't like he had done anything wrong. When I saw Milhail eyeing Waters' gun, I asked the detective if he could put it away.
    
      "Cool," Milhail said excitedly, "I wanna be a cop! Can I, dad?"
    
      "You can if you don't do anything bad," I said, "Understand?"
    
      Waters nearly scoffed until a glance from me told him to shut it. Milhail nodded enthhusiatically while I handed him Norman's bassinet and all of us left the crime scene. While Richards and Sanders were happy to have the case gone off the books, there were too many people involved (especially with the park ranger), so I did knock some heads together.
    
      It didn't matter if Cox or Tseng were available or not. It was my mess and I cleaned it up with a combination of lies and forceful persuasion. Ultimately, Jacob Waters and his two detectives got credit for the rescue. Before I left, the detective lieutenant informed me in sober tones that Melanie and Rachelle would likely need to testify against the surviving kidnapper if it went to trial.
    
      "Unless something happens to him too." I saw Waters glancing suspiciously at me.
    
      "Should it?" A malicious thought briefly crossed my mind as I replied.
    
      I toyed with the idea of having the D.A. dropping the charges so the kidnapper could be set free. Free from "normal" justice didn't mean he was free from me. And while I was sure it was an open and shut case, the muscle was cheap. The house where the kids were brought to was a dud too. It was rented by one of the dead kidnappers and paid in cash.
    
      So, whoever were the brains behind the plot could theoretically try again. When I told both Melanie and Rachelle what was being expected of them for the criminal trial, I half expected them to be annoyed. Instead, they were hopping mad and anxious to get to the stand -- all their fear had been wrung from them with this ordeal.
    
      "Bring it on," Rachelle hissed coldly, "I want him locked up forever."
    
      "At best," Janet said softly, "It'll be ten to twenty years."
    
      The mocha-skinned mother shot her rival a hard glance, but soon softened her gaze. If there was one good thing from the kidnapping's aftermath, it was it finally melted the ice between my First and my high school sweetheart. Janet brought Michael and Frederick up to Rachelle's place and even invited her and the twins to the pool.
    
      "So we can talk," Janet said timidly when I confronted her about it. "Besides, I need someone to vent about you, you reckless asshole."
    
      I smiled slightly. I knew it was hard of my First to apologize because she generally took shit from no one. Rachelle suspected Janet was up to something, but I finally coaxed my brown sugar into coming around.
    
      "She can't stay mad forever, Ra-Ra." I stroked her hand as we sat on her balcony. "Jan's reaching out; would you be willing to meet her at least halfway?"
    
      "Are you kidding me?" Rachelle blanched, "And are you sure?"
    
      "I'm serious." I nodded slowly. "And Jan is too."
    
      "Oh, all right, fine," she sighed, "I suppose you'd like us to be the best of buddies now?"
    
      "That would be nice." I smiled wanly. "The kids have been clamoring for more play-dates, too."
    
      "Oh okay, sugar," Rachelle pecked me on the cheek, "I'll try."
    
      That was one less worry for me, but I still had work to do. The last kidnapper was shivved in lock-up by a shady looking inmate before his case went to trial. That meant no trial, no deal, and -- most importantly -- no clear answers. Waters and his detectives were suspicious, but since the other inmate was a lifer, there was really no incentive for him to cooperate.
    
      However, being in the dirty tricks business for so long, I wasn't the least bit surprised. The kidnapper's killer was another clue that someone else was pulling the strings, and I soon formed a picture of how things went down, ultimately confirming Jamie's suspicions. A Pincelli was involved but it wasn't the Joey who died in Vegas, but rather his father Joseph Pincelli II (Joey was the third in his family of recent times). Joseph Senior was in his seventies and bound to a wheelchair.
    
      Exactly how a sly old man sired a rough-cut, midget-mobster greaseball like Joey Junior was a mystery. Using what I learned, I mind-hopped through mobsters all across the country, working my way from contact to contact, thought-mining as I went. I thought Joseph Senior was the originator of the kidnapping, but I was wrong.
    
      The old man initially wanted me killed. That was a simple, clean-cut plan, and one which would've caused his own death when it failed and I would have tracked him down to return the favor. Instead, he put a surveillance team on me and started shadowing me. As for how he found me, it was a case of bad luck.
    
      Before I had left Jamie's Vegas apartment all those years ago, I had left my mobile phone number on a note at her place. When the note had served its purpose, I threw it in her trashbin and forgot about it. After I took Jamie back to California, I never went back there or gave it a second thought.
    
      Then, someone from the mob had begun looking into the various girls who didn't show up for work after Joey Junior's peculiar death. Jamie's old place was searched and they found the note and number.
    
      Here's where another slip-up cost me: the construction business was laced with mob influence. It was a good way to launder their money, a necessary step to make it in the legitimate world. With all the cash-only wheeling and dealing I had done with my contractors for the eco-condo, it was a wonder someone in Cosa Nostra hadn't picked up on Pincelli's incident and put two and two together.
    
      While the businesses in the Bay Area weren't as intricately tied to the mob (they're mostly fronts for the Tong -- Chinese families who are sometimes involved in crime), there were still loose ties to the mafia east of Chicago and St. Louis.
    
      It took nearly seven years and that project at Red Rock to further things along. I occasionally used my own mobile number on work orders. With Red Rock, I didn't have much choice since I wanted it to be a secret from my darlings. Hence, my number -- the exact same one I had written down in Jamie's old place -- was printed on some work orders I had signed off on for Red Rock. One of them had been spotted by a sharp-eyed mob soldier who was privy to the elder Pincelli's problems and he passed the information along.
    
      Of course, my involvement with Pincelli's death was just a suspicion on the part of Joey Senior. There wasn't anything to go on since I had left no prints, and apart from the number, it could've easily been someone else; people could change phone numbers over the years. The mob was a lot of things, but they didn't have a reliable person in the telecommunications business (at least not the information end) to pull their weight and check up on everything.
    
      With the only witnesses (apart from Jamie) dead, no one save the dealers and old security tapes (long erased) could've placed me at the casino. Still, a surveillance team was put on me. They snapped a few pictures of me coming and going from my place, and then reported back to Joey Senior.
    
      That's when chance struck in the worst way. Craig Simmons, Rachelle's ex-boyfriend was a friend of one of the survelliance team members. They were both in a models' club that photographed young nude girls for a variety of pornographic websites. When Craig got a look at his friend's pictures, he wanted to talk to Joey Senior right away.
    
      What Craig said behind closed doors came to fore later when I scanned his mind: I was screwing around with several women, and if Joey Senior had suspicions that I had something to do with his son Joey's murder and Jamie's disappearance (Craig was lying about the latter, but his lie was on the mark), then the old mobster was likely right.
    
      That's when Craig suggested the idea that they kidnap one (or all) of my kids to get at me. Normally, people like Joey Senior wouldn't listen to such a crackpot (and dangerously overt) scheme such as the one being proposed. However, the death of his eldest son seriously made him think about revenge. So, he gave the go ahead.
    
      It was unfortunate that the kidnappers never tried a damn thing when I was with any of my children at one of those insufferable Pixar movies. I probably would've incurred quite a body count and spared Rachelle and Melanie from such distress. However, the movie theaters were crowded and full of witnesses and cops almost all the time. The kidnappers bided their time. They finally got their chance that lazy summer day at the zoo.
    
      Okay, so fair's fair. I killed Joey Senior's son, so I understood his reason for wanting to killing me. In a strange way, I had grudging respect for that. But what I couldn't stomach though, was Craig Simmons. Bearing a grudge against me was one thing, but initiating such direct action against my family was a death sentence.
    
      Hence, it was with grim determination that I joined the family at Janet's house for a massive but quiet supper two weekends after the kidnapping. The place was packed with my five available wives, nine children, as well as Mother Benton, Janet's mother and father, and my parents (the other in-laws we'd usually invite individually to maintain the protocol of a single marriage).
    
      The mood was joyfully subdued: the kids were safe, the physical injuries suffered by Melanie and Rachelle would heal, and we had just got news about the kidnapper's "accident" in prison. Nevertheless, I had unfinished business with Craig Simmons.
    
      While the kids, mothers, and grandparents were downstairs, I quietly excused myself and locked myself in Janet's restroom. There, I entered a deep, deep trance and stalked Craig's final night. I surreptitiously sifted through his memories earlier in the day: the gymnasium after a full day at the hip-hop club, and then home.
    
      As I went through his mind, I was reminded once again how much a sleazebag Craig was. He'd sweet talk the girls at the club to come back to his place, where he'd drug them or get them drunk so he could have sex with them.
    
      The promises he made though, were all for naught. His was more a "pump 'em, then dump 'em" attitude. Luckily, his latest infatuation -- a pretty air-headed little Asian girl -- refused his advances and Craig went about his business alone. I waited until he got home and watched him enter his cookie-cutter North Hollywood home.
    
      Craig was in the kitchen, making himself a sandwich. As he was spreading the mayonnaise, I focused my concentration on the kitchen window. With the light on and the darkness outside, the window easily reflected the apartment interior.
    
      When Craig saw "me" standing next to him as I appeared to him that night when he was choking Rachelle at the Monte Blanc, his eyes flew wide and he turned around to see -- nothing.
    
      "The fuck?" he glanced back and forth between the space where he thought he saw me and the kitchen window.
    
      'Hello Craig.' It didn't matter that I thought-spoke to him now; subtlety was not an issue at this point. The sleazebag whirled around, thinking I was behind him.
    
      'I thought I told you to leave Rachelle and me alone.' I thought-spoke.
    
      "I--I did." Craig felt foolish talking to thin air. "What do you want?"
    
      'You lie.' I flashed him an image of a dishevelled Rachelle as I had seen her in the hospital after being tasered. It quickly switched to his meeting with Joseph Pincelli Senior.
    
      "What the--?!"
    
      'Goodbye asshole.'
    
      The bastard never got in another word as I forcibly seized his mind. For the final moments of his life, Craig Simmons not only knew who I was, but also what I was. I bludgeoned his mind into submission by focusing on parts of the brain that controlled his higher cognitive functions.
    
      By selectively cutting them off, Craig became a shell of a person. A normal would know he (or she) wasn't in control of their body anymore; I was the puppeteer who jerked their body around.
    
      This was the exact same technique I had used when Tseng and I had subjugated the cartels in the Tecate region years ago. It used to be where Tseng was more physical about it, while I was more of a sneaky bastard who fucked with the minds of those who were going to be killed. However, there were instances where we both forcefully intruded on a target to initiate a slaughter; I did that now.
    
      However, getting rid of Craig wasn't as easy as one-two-three. His father was a Congressman for a district in Los Angeles; Craig's sudden death or disappearance would bring about some questions -- like law enforcement snooping around and finding his connection with Rachelle, and then her connection to me. So, I had planned a cleaner method for Craig to "retire": death by gun. I needed to make it look like an accident, so I staged the whole scene.
    
      As Craig watched his body go about under someone else's will, I could sense that he was wondering if his mind had been damaged from the drugs he took, or if he was dreaming. I plunked Craig's laptop on the kitchen counter, booted it up, and set out a bottle of potent Scotch. Since I couldn't fake Craig's penmanship, I forced him to type out his letter.
    
      To prevent the contents of the note from giving me away, I simply wrote that he had committed sordid wrongs, and how he finally had enough of his unhappy existence. I had Craig bid his family and the world goodbye, along with a postscript that asked for forgiveness.
    
      After I saved the note and printed it, I puppeteered Craig's body to his room, where I brought out his handgun. I then took him back down to the kitchen, and broke out his cleaning kit next to the laptop and sandwich. I scattered some cleaning paraphernalia around the counter, and after splashing some lubricant and scotch around the magazines, it was time.
    
      By now, Craig was positively screaming to regain control, but to no avail. To shut him up, I had him down six quick shots of scotch. As he began to blabber from the alcohol, I loaded the gun with a single .45 hollow point cartridge, levelled the weapon at his eye, and pulled the trigger.
    
      The shock of Craig's mind vanishing snapped my focus back to where I physically was. I shook off the disorientation and pinged. When I was sure that he was brain-dead, I rejoined my family downstairs. I felt a bit more at ease and relieved after having completed a minor task on my "to-do" list. But I wasn't done yet, and Craig Simmons had been the easy target.
    
      I needed to do more work to get to Joseph Senior -- the man was a goddamned mob boss -- and deal with him. I was not sure if Joseph Senior had made known his plan of revenge to anyone else, so simply killing him would've just caused more problems. His followers would immediately be alerted (and incensed) if something untowards happened to the elder Pincelli so soon after an incident like this.
    
      I needed to strike back without actually "striking back". While mind-hopping from one mobster to another, I soon found Joseph Senior's private orderly, a mobster who served as his nurse. Once in control, it didn't take me much effort to get the number of the phone next to his bed.
    
    ===============================================================================
      VENGEANCE, SHORT AND SWEET
    ===============================================================================
    
      While I pursued my goal, Janet nearly stirred up a little stink on her own. When I nudged her suspicions about the kidnapping towards the defendants of her current case, she seized on it and started an investigation on her own. Before things got out of hand, I jumped in and nudged her back, suggesting that she was perhaps chasing ghosts.
    
      It was a good thing I caught her early -- if Janet discovered anything about Pincelli or my involvement, she'd have to deal with the mafia or the invisible empire. Both meant trouble for my relentless First.
    
      With so much on my mind, and so much more to do, my darlings thought I was having a case of nervousness from the kidnapping. Shawn and Melanie were so concerned, they organized an intervention to get me into therapy. Imagine my surprise when I came home to my condo only to be confronted by a gaggle of worried women clucking psycho-babble and pressuring me to go to an expert.
    
      "I'm fine. Really I am." I tried to weasel my way out. "There's no need for this."
    
      "Well, I was the one who got tazed!" Rachelle exclaimed, "Not you, sugar! But you're having more trouble coping than me!"
    
      "That ends it, Stanley," Janet glanced at me sternly. "Denying it to yourself is one thing, but you can't lie to us! Something's troubling you and you're going to see Doctor Phillips whether you like it or not!"
    
      Damn.
    
      Luckily, my sessions were one-on-one; I tricked the therapist into thinking my sessions were over so I could go forward with my revenge scheme. After a little digging, I found one of Pincelli's grandchildren living in Los Angeles. She was a pretty girl named Juliana. Being one of Joey Senior's descendants from his daughters, she did not share his last name.
    
      Juliana was pretty (but not super-pretty) and about Jillian's age. Long story made super short: I kidnapped the little bitch. I didn't do anything to her apart from the snatch though, so you can stop thinking I'm some sort of monster; I had children of my own.
    
      Juliana was an easy mark, from an empire citizen's point of view. She was flaky, scatter-brained, and distracted. All classic symptoms of what 'normal' experts decry as attention deficit disorder. I simply "persuaded" her to ride her bus to a different stop, transfer to another (less populated) route, and walk around the corner. Like most child kidnappings done by my kind, she vanished without a trace.
    
      Of course, having Juliana just "disappear" wasn't going to be my message. Pincelli had to know he was playing with not just ordinary fire, but an intelligent inferno which sought out targets.
    
      I locked an unharmed Juliana into the trunk of a luxury Buick I had stolen earlier that day and -- in the dead of night -- "drove" it using telekinesis while following in my own car to a mall's underground parking lot in Los Angeles' Korea Town. This way, Juliana wouldn't be cooked alive when the sun rose.
    
      Not being a total asshole, I left some bottles of juice and some dried crackers in the trunk. As for the lack of a bathroom, I was sure Juliana would come out of this with a healthy appreciation for running water and flushing toilets. By using a clever combination of telekninesis and telepathy, I had set-up the perfect, untraceable kidnapping: telekinesis denied the presence of fingerprints and other physical evidence.
    
      I never touched the vehicle Juliana was locked in, and didn't do anything else except the snatch. I only touched Juliana once -- on her forehead with the knuckle of my finger. And that was to use my gift to scrub her memory of my voice and face. I left Pincelli's granddaughter and drove the eight hours back towards San Francisco.
    
      My plan was not terribly complex, and not wholly reliant on my gift. While I was sure I could mind-hop easily from Joey Senior's nurse into his mind, I wasn't all too sure of how'd he'd react when I deliver the news of his grandchild's kidnapping. A "freak dream" -- similar to what I had used with Waters years ago -- would be too coincidental, and that had the dubious complication of tipping my hand with the empire.
    
      However, I needed a reasonably untraceable method to contact the elder Pincelli. By the time I was back in Oakland's Chinatown, I had worked out how.
    
      I parked the car on a side-street, and hauled out a disposable TracPhone to make my call (this was before the new security measure requiring credit or debit cards to be used for pre-paid phones for fear insurgents would use them as explosives detonators). I had brought along a cheap novelty voice-changer (I think it was a Transformer's voice-changer, but made for telling jokes) and held it between my mouth and the microphone as I spoke.
    
      "Hello Joseph Pincelli Senior?" I came out sounding a bit like a very polite and comprehensible Jackie Chan.
    
      "Who is this?" Joey Senior asked. I heard a clatter of trays and the soft rustle of blankets.
    
      "You threatened a friend of mine," I said casually, "And you nearly got away with it too."
    
      "I don't know who you are," he started. "You got the wrong number."
    
      "My friend also wants to send you a message," I said, "He said your son Joey died like a pig. That's why he got roasted in his own sty -- like a pig."
    
      There was silence on the other line. I heard a mild rustling, like he was switching the phone to BlueTooth or trying to see who dialed.
    
      "What did you just say?" Joey Senior was fighting back his anger to keep me on the line as long as possible. I figured that the number for a disposable phone wasn't confidential, but I also knew such calls could be triangulated using the locations of cell towers. I made my pitch quickly.
    
      "You had your chance to get revenge," I explained in my faux accented voice, "Well, you blew it. But my friend is willing to let it go."
    
      I heard some more rustling in the background. Probably a bodyguard or orderly bringing Joey Senior a paper so he could write out orders.
    
      "But be warned Pincelli," I lowered my voice to a deep growl, "My friend isn't a push-over; he's pissed. If he finds you're behind any more business directed at his family again, you can start ordering caskets for yours."
    
      Joey Senior said nothing so I went on.
    
      "Just in case you think this is a bullshit crank call, here're some names you might find interesting."
    
      I glanced at the notepad I had written down all of Pincelli's children, including their addresses, schools, jobs, and, in some cases, the names of their children, and began reciting them. When I finished my list, I let loose my final barb.
    
      "Oh, and you'll find your granddaughter Juliana in an unmarked blue car in Los Angeles' Korea Town." I gave him the closest intersection of her location. "I'd hurry up if I were you. We left her with some food but you know how hot a trunk can get in the middle of L.A."
    
      "You -- you son of a --" I heard Joseph Senior's breathing becoming labored as he tried keeping his rage in control. Damn. I hoped the fucker didn't die of a heart attack before all this got wrapped up; the old boy dying would mean I'd have to phone in Juliana's location myself.
    
      "This will be your only warning Pincelli," I said plainly, "And don't forget one last thing."
    
      "What's that?" Pincelli rasped.
    
      "We know where you live too." I hung up before Joseph Senior made a reply.
    
      I was half-lying with that last threat, but I had his private number. I suppose I could've tapped into agency resources and found a way to drop some kind of ordnance right onto his home (once I found out where he was) but I was positive that would've rubbed a lot of people wrong.
    
      I didn't notice it until I had shut off the phone, but my hands were shaking. It wasn't Pincelli who scared me. It wasn't even Cosa Nostra. I knew if I wanted to, I could make things very difficult for any organization or entity -- I could probably find and destroy the whole network by mind-hopping from one member into another.
    
      I was copacetic with committing crimes (up to and including murder). I was fine with using my gifts to get expendable 'normals' to do my bidding. What was not sitting well with me was the possibility that any of the mob should come after my family. The very notion that some mafia shitbag ordering a hit on my wives and children weighed heavily on my mind.
    
      I wondered how far I would go now. Would I break more laws, take more risks, or even risk exposing the invisible empire to keep Pincelli in his place? I shuddered and wondered what would happen, not to me -- I could care less at this point -- but what would happen to the women and children.
    
      I sat in my car for the longest time, just staring at the disposable phone, fearing it would ring. Finally, I took it apart, and pulled out its electronic guts.
    
      I kept the rest of the phone, but the SimChip and circuit board I dropped into the chilly bay by Jack London Square. My task done, I headed over the Bay Bridge, and back home to my family.
    
    ===============================================================================
      LOVERS' SPAT
    ===============================================================================
    
      Juliana was only mildly dehydrated when they recovered her. She didn't remember anything about her ordeal save that she was grabbed by someone she didn't see. Her kidnapping made the news and -- along with our family's recent experience -- elicited a minor upwell of concern from my darlings.
    
      All of the moms looked over the children just once more now, fretting over nothing. I played along and worried too, not entirely for show. I needed the practice, because I had to put on another show shortly after Craig's death.
    
      Congressman Simmons (R-CA) issued a brief statement about his son's sudden death two days after Craig's body was discovered. Nothing was louder in a sleepy neighborhood of single story family homes than a .45 caliber round's report (it would be something huge in that case).
    
      The death of the younger Simmons brought up some issues about gun control again, but there was no spectacular fallout. Rachelle didn't even hear about it until a mutual acquaintance of her's and Craig's called and told her the bad news. She took the call in another room, but I easily sensed she was experiencing a wide mix of emotions.
    
      "Craig's dead," Rachelle said simply when she stepped back out. "He -- he shot himself."
    
      "Oh?" I kept my tone neutral. Inwardly, I was ecstatic.
    
      "Yeah," she sat and sighed, "I'm thinking about going to the memorial."
    
      "I understand." I smiled acidly.
    
      "Don't make it harder than it is." Rachelle lowered her gaze, "His father was nice and Craig had some decent friends."
    
      "He had friends?" I came off a bit more sarcastic than I wanted.
    
      "Stanley! Please." She looked glum.
    
      "Sorry," I said. After a moment, I added, "Would you like me to come along?"
    
      "You don't have to," Rachelle murmured.
    
      "Hey, I'm still your husband," I reminded her gently, "Even though it's not a matter of public record."
    
      "Well," she found herself grinning bravely, "If you insist on it, 'hubby'."
    
      I grinned as well. Rachelle and Janet had been mending fences. Aside from the twins getting along well with Frederick, the two women shared some common interests: good food, drink, and gossip. The latest thing they've been doing was swapping dirty stories and odd habits of mine. They've also been learning what words and phrases they've been using all these years to get me off, not to mention sharing some common bedroom apparel.
    
      Rachelle and I attended Craig's service, but kept our stay short. Fearing that I'd tip my hand, I wore a pair of leather gloves. My delight at Craig's passing was great, but I had not desire to share it at his funeral. It was certainly odd comforting the father of someone I had killed.
    
      Representative Simmons wasn't such a bad guy; I'd know because I dug his mind. He didn't sleaze it up by chasing secretaries, or taking in too much money and favors (all politicians took in money and favors during campaigning; Simmons simply kept his shit sensible). His wife had died from cancer when Craig was still in middle school, but he hadn't remarried.
    
      "You're Rachelle Hollister aren't you?" the elder Simmons greeted her.
    
      "Yes," the mocha-skinned mulatto shook his hand, "Yes I am. I'm sorry we have to meet again like this. My deepest condolences for your loss."
    
      I followed suit. With the Hollisters, Rachelle and I had "jumped the broom"** but apart from family and close friends, we refrained from referring to ourselves as a married couple. We didn't want to give any enemies a potential bullet to shoot us with.
    
      [** Author's note: 'jumping the broom' is an African-American wedding tradition used to signify marriage. It was started during the slavery days, when white churches did not perform marriage ceremonies between slaves; it is accepted only in some circles.]
    
      "Ah." The congressman nodded then asked me, "And you are?"
    
      "Just Stanley," I said. "My condolences, sir."
    
      I wanted to add: Your fuck-wipe son ddeserved to die because he was such a prick -- but I kept silent.
    
      Despite the somber setting, we made some light-hearted small talk. The old codger seemed genuinely interested in Rachelle's welfare and had wondered about her when she left Craig and L.A. Now with his son's death, the shocking reality seemed to have hit the elder Simmons like a bat to the teeth.
    
      The photos and movies on Craig's laptop, the voicemails on his phone, and the seemingly endless parade of girls through his place were evidence of debauchery that shocked even the most jaded individual.
    
      But what surprised me when I was rooting through the older man's mind was how the congressman still saw his son as a "little boy", and someone to be coddled. When it became clear that Rachelle and I were a couple, the congressman renewed his attention with us and asked us an odd question.
    
      "Pardon my curiosity," he asked, "But do you have children?"
    
      Rachelle blinked as we both nodded slowly. We were both surprised such questions were being asked at a time and place like this.
    
      "Look out for them," the representative said, his eyes lost in thought, "They grow up fast, and if you're not there to correct their mistakes, they become more of a terror than they were when they're two."
    
      "Thank you." I kept my tone bland although I was enjoying the man's discomfort. "We'll keep that in mind."
    
      The elder Simmons studied Rachelle and I knew he was pondering what Craig had done to this lovely mulatto girl to drive her away. Rachelle fidgeted uncomfortably until the congressman shook our hands again and went back to his mourning.
    
      "That was an odd thing to say," I remarked as we headed back to our car.
    
      "Yeah." Rachelle walked stiffly with her arms tucked into each other. She was wearing these big shades -- ones people wear to hide their eyes for the reason of hiding their eyes (in addition to the sun).
    
      I glanced at her from the corner of my eye and delicately picked up her thoughts. She was feeling genuinely sorry for the congressman, despite what she had undergone from Craig. The elder Simmons was like a kindly second father to her, and this whole thing was tearing her up inside.
    
      My casual attitude, coupled with maintaining an indifferent grin the whole time certainly didn't help. To her, it was like I was a bit too giddy to be mourning. Over-compensating was just as bad as lack of preparation.
    
      So much for putting on an act. As we drove back to LAX, Rachelle kept silent, but I could sense she was glowering at me from the passenger seat.
    
      "Maybe I shouldn't have come," I said slowly to break the silence.
    
      "I said you didn't have to come," she said angrily. "I bet that poor man now thinks I villified his son ..."
    
      "You didn't need to," I interjected, "He did so with his suicide note."
    
      Oops, I thought. The news mentioned a note, but no details were revealed to the public. Goddammit Stanley, I kicked myself. Shut the hell up.
    
      "What note?" Rachelle's tone suddenly became concerned. "What'd it say?"
    
      "I --" I swallowed and gauged my words with care, "-- asked a friend of a friend about the details. Just curious."
    
      "Stanley. Really." Her face registered disgust. "I can't believe you did that."
    
      I feigned a mournful face and lied, "I had to know Ra-Ra. He hurt you. I had to know if he was sorry."
    
      "And was he?" Her question hung in the air for a moment as I cranked my brain, trying to see which answers would be the most believable.
    
      "I don't know exactly." I kept my tone neutral. "But I was told he felt sorry being himself. Sorry, sugar."
    
      "Don't 'sugar' me!" Rachelle turned away, "Damn it, Stanley! None of this was your business!"
    
      I kept my mouth shut and a lid on my temper. Outwardly, I knuckled under the mulatto's harsh tongue, but I secretly began nudging Rachelle back into her old self -- or as much to her old self -- with my gift.
    
      The memory of what I did would remain. Much of Craig was tied into Rachelle's persona, so at the very least, I could lessen the blow and present myself as just a nosy busy-body.
    
      Hopefully, my dark-skinned darling would forgive me -- eventually. That unpleasant business aside, the fallout from the kidnapping brouhaha sucked up time from other things.
    
      Aside from dropping some personal hobbies (for the time being) and letting a construction manager handle Red Rock for me, I had to settle some sensitive problems; the most sensitive was Rosalind. More specifically, it was Andrew's and Sachiko's problem with Rosalind's roommate, Alexia.
    
      It's exactly what you think -- after that long weekend in May, Andrew got it in his head that Alexia was the woman he could be with. They began seeing more of each other through the summer.
    
      Sachiko got suspicious and began following him. Andrew didn't exercise enough discretion, so he eventually got caught. She found him hugging Alexia in the spare room (my old room) when she unexpectedly dropped in.
    
      One accusation lead to another, and it finally blew back to me as the one who had planned that sordid weekend in Napa's wine country. However, my brother and Alexia kept their mouths shut about Rosalind and her friends, not to mention the money the sultry Sino-Greek was paid for "services rendered" (or the fact I had boned Alexia before).
    
      Despite this wall of silence, I was singled out because I was covering for Andrew and Alexia when they were away that weekend. Janet got word of it from Sachiko's sister Gracia, and both in turn, berated me for breaking up such a happy couple.
    
      Of course, that wasn't the end of it. The incident roused Janet's suspicion. If I wasn't at home that weekend, and I wasn't in New York with Viktoriya, perhaps I was also screwing around.
    
      Thankfully, Andrew and Alexia said nothing apart from the fact I was driving them around. They knew revealing my part in the affair would only fan the flames, and they needed my help because our parents were not so supportive (or understanding) of how Andrew could cast Sachiko aside.
    
      "I don't know what to do." Andrew paced the floor in my condo. "How'd you get away with this?"
    
      I looked at him, "You're asking me for advice?"
    
      "Of course I am! Who else do I know is a bigamist?"
    
      "According to public record," I reminded him politely, "Janet's the only wife I know of."
    
      "Don't gimme that." Andrew made a face and sat down with his head between his hands. "I really like her."
    
      "Who?" I asked, "Alexia?"
    
      "Well yeah," Andrew exclaimed, "Who else?"
    
      "Are you sure?" I asked, "It's not just your dick talking?"
    
      "Don't lecture me about that." He met my eyes long enough to shoot me a wry grin.
    
      I fidgeted slightly. While I was at ease with my lifestyle, I hadn't expected that my brother would lower his standards so much. Alexia was beautiful, but she was only of average intelligence. Over time, her beauty would fade, but her most important asset -- the thoughts in her head -- would determine how good a wife she'd make. For now, I considered Alexia nothing more than a convenient piece of meat.
    
      "I just want you to be sure," I said softly, "You have a lot riding on what you do, or don't do in the next few days."
    
      "Don't I know it," Andrew said soberly, "All I know is that we connect. Alexia and I hit it off at the lake and stuff, but it was that first night. We talked and it was cool."
    
      I knitted my brow and scanned my brother's mind to make sure he wasn't bullshitting me. Well, at least he thought he connected. I wasn't so sure about Alexia.
    
      "I talked a bit more with her when we were in Oakville," Andrew went on, "But we didn't get much time alone after that."
    
      "I can imagine," I said dryly and he blushed deep red. My brother had absconded with three girls (included Alexia) to his bedroom for an all-out orgy. I could only imagine how she felt about that, so I broached the question.
    
      "She understood," Andrew said slowly, "I mean it was a crazy college thing. But we started seeing each other during summer and we really like it. We're really in-sync."
    
      "What about Sachiko?" I asked him.
    
      "That's why I'm asking you for advice." Andrew gulped. "I want her too."
    
      "Oh for fuck's sake." I leaned over and levelled with him. "You want to walk down this road too? Because it ain't all fun and games."
    
      "I can do this," my brother said, "I mean, it's just the two of them."
    
      "For now," I corrected him, "What about a year from now? What about four years from now? What if you meet another great girl you think you can spend the rest of your life with?"
    
      "Well, isn't that what happened with Kam-Ling?" Andrew asked, "You were seeing Rachelle a lot, I remember."
    
      "That's a complicated story." I waved off dismissively. I'd not told my family about how Janet and I fell in love.
    
      "Okay so, what about Viktoriya and Shawn?" my brother pressed, "I only saw them maybe once or twice when you and Yu-Ching were together a lot too. Don't tell me you were able to keep them apart for that long?"
    
      "Even if I did," I gave him another wave, "What'd you think happened when they found out about each other?"
    
      Andrew fell silent.
    
      "Listen ah-Pung*," I held up my hand, "I'm not saying Alexia's wrong for you. I'm not saying you shouldn't go out with her. But you got to think about Sachiko too." [* Cantonese: Chen Wei-Pung was Andrew's given name]
    
      "Then -- what are you trying to tell me?!" Andrew was confused, "Get back with Ji-ko*?" [* Sachiko's name consisted of three syllables; here, Andrew only uses the last two syllables as an endearment.]
    
      "Yes," I nodded, "If you like her, you'd better. Leave Alexia to me."
    
      Andrew's hands were curled into fists. I caught a sense of anger in him and I wondered how much force I needed to punch my brother out.
    
      "I wish you never brought me up to Napa Valley," he mumbled. I could see the young man was trying hard not to cry, so I clarified myself.
    
      "I didn't mean it that way; I'll go and talk to Alexia and see if she's actually screwing with you."
    
      Andrew stiffly tried to compose himself. Damn these kids, I thought. They're like time-vampires. And I thought my little brother had grown up so I didn't have to worry about him.
    
      "How can you tell?" he asked me.
    
      "Trust me." I gave him a reassuring nod. "And just so you know I'm not yanking your chain, I'll ask Yu-Ching to do the talking, okay?"
    
      "Thanks," Andrew said glumly.
    
      "You know you should've dated Alexia," I said, "And I mean date her -- not dine and fuck her. You said you dated Sachiko for how long? Five years?"
    
      "Yeah." He nodded.
    
      "Now how about Alexia?" I sat back and studied him, "Do you like her enough that you'd stay with her even if she looked like the Elephant Man?"
    
      "I -- I guess so," my brother didn't sound sure of himself.
    
      "Maybe I was a lousy older brother," I admitted, "Or maybe I should've been a bit more forthcoming about what I was doing. But the amount of crap Kam-Ling and Yu-Ching put up to get this far with me can fill a book or two, maybe even three."
    
      "You guys seem so at ease with each other." Andrew's tone was envious. "I wish I had that."
    
      "You did," I said, "With Sachiko."
    
      The young man hung onto my words.
    
      "Look, I didn't tell all about those two lunkheads because it wasn't relevant," I explained, "But this kind of thing does require a lot of work. And for me to do this with six girls is that much harder, understand? It's not something that's just pick-up and play."
    
      "You mean 'Plug and Play'," Andrew corrected me.
    
      "You get the fucking idea," I snapped and he shrank back, nodding.
    
      Goddamn, I thought. I never figured I'd warp my little brother's brain into doing something like this. I scanned him at different levels, trying to get a good estimation of his wants and needs. I knew what he needed: Sachiko. The weekend at Lake Hennessey was simply something to whet his appetite; I didn't know it would've turned him into a womanizing bastard like me. With my gift, I knew what Andrew wanted: a younger, less pushy version of Sachiko. To him, Alexia seemed like that, but people change over time.
    
      "All right," I said and stood up, "Let me go make some calls."
    
      "Now?" Andrew's eyes grew wide.
    
      "Of course now." I glared. "Thanks to you, Janet's wondering what I did that weekend. You're exactly like Yu-Ching when it comes to secrets, you know that? A fucking sieve."
    
      "Sorry," he mumbled.
    
      "Okay, go home, focus on your work, and don't do anything stupid." I gazed sternly at him. "No calls to Alexia. No calls to Sachiko. No calls, no e-mails, no texting. Understand?"
    
      Andrew nodded glumly. For all I knew, Sachiko probably won't talk to you ever again, I thought. I couldn't say the same with Alexia. I never got the gold-digger feeling from her. Still, the very fact that she prostituted herself to two men said plenty about her world view. I saw my brother out before I headed back inside.
    
      As I walked upstairs to the fifth floor, I pondered how much I should interfere. Technically, I could leave this alone. I played it out in my mind: Sachiko would dump Andrew, he'll grow remorseful, enter a slump, and eventually get over it. Knowing Sachiko, she'd probably start poisoning Gracia's friendship with Janet (Sachiko was as bitchy as my First when things didn't go her way).
    
      While losing Gracia as a friend was regretable, I feared that would've jeapordized my relationship with Janet further. My First already suspected I was cheating on her (again) so I had to plan carefully. After I regurgitated Andrew's side of the story to Melanie, I asked her plainly for her opinion.
    
      "What'd you think?" I watched her youthful face carefully, "Does he have a chance?"
    
      "Why do you come to me for all your lovers' quarrels?" Yu-Ching narrowed her eyes at me, mimicking Janet's trademark squint.
    
      "Because you're the most persuasive person I know."
    
      I held out my hands, palms upturned. Melanie sighed but didn't answer as she turned back to feeding Norman his puree'd meal of chicken and veggies. Leave it to a chef to blend her own son's baby food. The injury dealt by the kidnapper to my youngest darling had healed with almost no scarring. I wasn't too worried about that. I was worried if her empathy would be affected in ways I didn't know about.
    
      I had noticed over the years that mental presences in Melanie's proximity seemed to vanish along with her own. When the kidnapping occured, Rachelle's presence was nearly invisible. I hazarded that Little Chen's powers were more potent if she was running the gamut of the most extreme feelings: fear, anger, and joy. I wondered though, if she would be able to persuade Sachiko.
    
      "No," Melanie murmured as she fed another spoonful of tasty paste to Norman.
    
      "What was that?" I blinked.
    
      "You're thinking if I'm going to help your stupid brother patch things up with Sachiko," she cast a glance at me. "The answer's 'No!'"
    
      "But I didn't ask yet." I smiled bravely. Inwardly, I wondered if Melanie was reading my mind.
    
      "You didn't have to ask," my little darling chirped. "I can see it on your face."
    
      "And what's wrong with asking?" I sat beside mother and son. "He thinks he's in love."
    
      "That's the problem," Melanie said dourly, "He met that other girl when? Three months ago?"
    
      "Yes, there abouts," I nodded. It wouldn't surprise me that the news of this had become everyone's business now.
    
      "That's too short a time," she said as she scooped another spoonful of paste. "Andrew's known Sachiko for years, but this Alexia is really just a hussy."
    
      "Funny coming from you," I blurted before I could stop myself.
    
      "What's THAT s'posed to mean?" Melanie glared at me angrily. "I've known you since we were children. That's different!"
    
      Norman gave an excited cry and burped, throwing up a little of his dinner. I grabbed a damp cloth and quickly wiped up the mess.
    
      "Sorry," I said as Melanie packed away the baby's food for later.
    
      "Look," she moderated her voice once more, "Ah-Pung just lost his head. Let's give him some time. In the meanwhile, lemme see what Sachiko thinks."
    
      "I thought you weren't going to help," I said as I eyed her suspiciously.
    
      "I'm not." Melanie folded her arms across her chest and stared back. "I just want to see what she thinks."
    
      I felt mildly uncomfortable. "Hey, look. If Jan's been saying things ..."
    
      "Stop it, Stanley." Melanie glared at me, her dark doe eyes flashed angrily. "I know you've been seeing someone besides us. I just don't want to hear it, okay?"
    
      "You -- you can tell?" I asked weakly.
    
      "Of course I can!" She enclosed my hands with hers and put them between her breasts, "I feel it! I don't know how, but I feel it. Here! Understand?"
    
      "All this time," I murmured in astonishment, "You didn't say a thing."
    
      "Because I didn't want to worry you." Melanie dipped her eyes. "You know I hear things. Even when we were little."
    
      As I stood there in my little wife's tender grasp, I felt her anxiety. She knew it wasn't normal to hear the occasional thought from people, and probably thought she was either crazy or delusional. Melanie, in her naivete, had elected to remain silent about her condition, which was quite normal for our kind.
    
      So, I thought darkly. My selective memory experiment didn't work. At least not with Melanie. And still, I hesitated to tell her about the invisible empire. To reveal it so suddenly after having known her for -- what? Eighteen years? That would've been too much. Now, I felt rotten on top of guilty.
    
      "Is she younger than me?" she finally murmured. I glanced at her. Melanie's face was serene but I felt her hands trembling. At this range, I knew I had to tell her the truth.
    
      "Yes," I managed to stammer. Her lips twitched only slightly as she phrased her next question.
    
      "Is she younger than Jillian?"
    
      I felt my face grow hot; I flinched as if I'd been slapped.
    
      "No," I answered firmly, "She was a student from the class I taught at the university."
    
      A sign of relief returned to my Lady Chen's face as she peered at me with her round doe's eyes.
    
      "Would you forgive me?" I mumbled.
    
      "I always have," she said softly, "Why do you think I stay by you?"
    
      Fuck me to tears, I thought. I was scum. I also felt dizzy and mildly queasy. Was it little Yu-Ching? Or was it just me feeling like the world's biggest ass-hat? Melanie released my hands and hugged me. Her tiny head rested against my chest as she spoke once more.
    
      "I'll talk to Shawn Ellen," she murmured, "She's been through a lot too. You leave Andrew's business to me, okay?"
    
      I nodded mutely.
    
      "But promise me, Stanley." Melanie looked up, her eyes wet. "Promise me you won't see her again."
    
      I didn't know why I hesitated, but I did -- if only for the briefest of moments -- before I nodded in agreement.
    
      "But," my little darling's tone grew somber, "If you have to, just don't give her children. It won't be right."
    
      I blinked and saw her gazing again at my face. It was as if she could sense my thoughts, although I knew it to be untrue. I gazed back at her sweet face and thought-spoke: 'You can't read my mind can you, Yu-Ching? Can you read me? Have you been reading me for all these years?' Melanie stared back evenly without a response, audible or otherwise. Finally, she shook me lightly.
    
      "Dapp-wo-a*!" she cried softly. [* Cantonese: Answer me!]
    
      "I -- I will," I cursed lightly, prompting an admonishing gaze from her. "Promise."
    
      "I know it's been stressful around here lately," Melanie sighed, "But I'll talk to Ling-jie* [* Cantonese: Elder Sister Ling, otherwise known as Janet] and we'll make it more like a home and less like a zoo. Okay?"
    
      "Okay." I bumped foreheads with her. "You know best."
    
      She made a small noise that only a woman of her noble character could make. We stayed like that for a while until Norman began clamoring for attention. Melanie sighed and picked up the toddler, but he started squirming and reaching for me.
    
      "Here, you take him." She handed him to me then stretched her arms. "I'm gonna get his bath ready."
    
      Melanie lazily wandered off, yawning a bit. My guilt and unease seemed to subside as she retreated from the room. With a burning desire to understand what was going on, I followed her to the bathroom but the feelings didn't resurge. Strange, I thought about what happened as Norman drooled, kicked, and squirmed, trying to escape my grasp.
    
      After we bathed and put the baby to bed, we had some quiet time to ourselves. While I was touching her, I felt no discomfort or unease. Melanie seemed to have dismissed the earlier argument altogether as we made out on the sofa.
    
      After a few minutes of play though, she begged off to show me a little ditty she had been practicing on her zither from John Woo's "Red Cliff". It was a pleasant, soothing moment as I watched her slender fingers pluck the strings of her instrument.
    
      "Did you like it?" she asked as the music faded.
    
      "It's very relaxing." I smiled. "I wouldn't mind hearing it again."
    
      "Sure!" She seemed delighted, our earlier argument seemingly forgiven (and I hoped, forgotten). Melanie strummed her zither again, this time putting in a few artful inflections that were not there before. As I watched her play, I dared to wonder who exactly was the woman I knew as Chen Yu-Ching.
    
    ===============================================================================
      INTERLUDE -- COLD TURKEY ... KINDA
    ===============================================================================
    
      "So, you're never seeing me again?"
    
      Rosalind sat rigid in her chair as monkey-suited waiters brushed by us. They were trying not to notice, but it was hard not to. A thirty-something year old man on a date with a scantily clad twenty year old girl generally meant sordid business was going on.
    
      "No. Our agreement stands," I said, "But I'm going to be busy for a while, so I won't be able to drop anything off with you for some time."
    
      The tiny Korean girl was trembling not from cold but from anger, although one may not have guessed it immediately with her choice of clothing. She wore a slim cocktail dress of blue fabric accented by a gold linked chain. I liked that dress, because it was something I had foolishly given her for Valentine's Day about six weeks into our arrangement.
    
      "Besides," my words came out measured and slow, "You could use the time to learn new things."
    
      "I am," she glanced at me haughtily and whispered, "Or had you forgotten how you like spinning me around like a top?"
    
      "I meant new building techniques," I said with distaste, "That other kind of 'skill' won't get you into a firm."
    
      Rosalind adjusted her skirt, drank a little wine and stared despondently at her plate.
    
      "Look here." I slid her a small tin. "This is for you, and it should last you a year -- or at least, until I get back."
    
      She opened the tin gingerly. It was the same one Tseng had given me years earlier, only now it had a safety deposit box key and a business card of a bank near where she lived in San Jose.
    
      "What's this?" she asked.
    
      "I opened a safety deposit box with your name and mine. You'll find your money there. I'll make annual deposits until you're done with school; you just email me or leave a copy of your grades."
    
      "Okay. Like, wow." Rosalind gulped then eyed me curiously. "Umm wait; don't I have to sign in or something? How'd you get a box without me being there?"
    
      "I told the clerk you were busy."
    
      Actually, the box was only in her name, although she and I could access it; it was for purposes of obscuring the paper trail. I simply fuzzed the mind of the clerk so everything was set-up nicely without me needing to leave anything save my name.
    
      That business with the kidnapping now made me hyper-paranoid about my information getting out. With this arrangement, I could leave money, love letters, or anything I wished without having to deal with Rosalind in person.
    
      "Thanks Stan." Rosalind paused and bit her lip gently. "So does your wife know?"
    
      "She suspects," I said slowly as I thought of my wives in plural. I still hadn't told Rosalind the truth, but I doubted it mattered now.
    
      "Ah," she nodded. "I understand, now. How'd she find out?"
    
      "Probably Andrew," I lied and briefly touched on Andrew's and Alexia's affair.
    
      "Shit." Rosalind soured. "I told her Andrew probably had a girlfriend. I'm sorry if she caused trouble."
    
      "I'll deal with it." I gave her a reassuring smile.
    
      "You sure?" She tilted her head slightly. "I mean I could tell Lexi to shove it."
    
      "I think Andrew's girlfriend already did." I chuckled. That and more. Sachiko didn't look it, but she swore like a sailor in both English and Japanese.
    
      "Well I'm just trying to help." Rosalind's tone approached a whine.
    
      "Don't worry about it." I patted her hand, "You just focus on your studies."
    
      "'Kay daddy," she murmurmed softly.
    
      "Good girl." Despite how much trouble I was going to get myself in, I grinned at her words. Rosalind smiled shyly and fidgeted like a little girl. She measured her next few words with great care.
    
      "So, will you be all right?" Rosalind asked.
    
      You don't know the half of it, I thought. But to shut her up, I simply nodded.
    
      It was already hard to lie to this sweet girl. I wondered why I couldn't stop seeing her though. Heck, even Melanie got the feeling I couldn't stop seeing this girl. Leave it to Yu-Ching to know me better than I know myself. The two of us made small talk about her progress and the design program while our after-dinner coffee was served, the tension swirling around the table.
    
      "Well, are you all right?" I asked her.
    
      "To be truthful," Rosalind took a deep breath, "I hate this. I hate not seeing you. But I guess I don't have much of a choice right now."
    
      "Choe-song ham ni-da*," I said haltingly. [* Korean: I'm sorry for doing you wrong.]
    
      "A-ni-e-yo*!" she beamed bravely at me. [* Korean: No problem!]
    
      As we headed back to the car, I pinged the area for any mental presences that I had remembered from the time I left for Berkeley till now. So far, so good. If Janet was snooping, she was doing it with private investigators and not herself, as I knew she was back home working on her current case.
    
      Rosalind and her friends were at the same apartment (leases were generally year to year). Because the place was so crowded, I simply rented a room at a nearby hotel near the San Francisco Aiport so we could be alone. If I looked the part of a business man, I could pay all cash and get away with it.
    
      The Korean cutie's cheeks burned bright red as she slipped into the room with me. We weren't planning to spend the whole night there anyway -- and we weren't thinking about doing any sleeping. Rosalind jumped me as soon as the door shut behind us. Her short stature and tiny body made her a great fuck-toy.
    
      She squealed playfully as I carried her to the shower. After a good scrubbing, the two of us slipped into bed, our bodies keeping us warm under the thin bedsheets. I fucked her slowly and wondered how I was going to extricate myself from the situation without treating her like a disposable condom.
    
      I had put myself into this situation before with Aurora. My cousin -- who had fallen deeply in love with me -- had died young, robbing me the chance to properly break with her. Now, I had put myself into that same position again. It was like I was trying to unconsciously correct some past wrong.
    
      Thinking about Aurora only made me uncomfortable; Rosalind, misreading my face, hugged me tightly and wouldn't let me leave after we were done. I reluctantly spent the night with Rosalind. I knew deep down that she and I shared wouldn't last; what made it worrisome was Rosalind knew it too, but she was taking our relationship more seriously than it should be.
    
      The prospect of zapping her so she'd forget everything was something I didn't want to dwell on. Still, if the need arose, I knew I'd do it. Despite the great-hearted act Melanie had done, I was sure I couldn't count on the same leniency from the others. With a heavy heart, I began planning for the inevitable day Rosalind Chae would finally be freed from me.
    
    ===============================================================================
      A WEEKEND WITH MY FIRST
    ===============================================================================
    
      Janet was still hopping mad over the whole Andrew/Alexia affair. Having befriended Gracia, my First was at first apalled by Andrew's behavior. Then her suspicions began going into overdrive.
    
      Thankfully, Melanie's tearful pleading prompted me to do the right thing. I stopped seeing Rosalind just in time, because Janet had begun snooping around on her own.
    
      Since I could read her so readily, it was easy to determine where, when, and what Janet was planning on doing. So, for a few weeks, I did what my wife expected me to do: drop by my businesses, do some swimming with Shawn at her pool, expand on that set of obsidian and flint knives I'd given Melanie last year, and spending time at home with the kids. I even found the time to teach Janet a bit about cars.
    
      When Andrew and I were kids, we helped our father around with the cars. It was so we'd have some basic knowledge about automobiles so we wouldn't be royally ripped off when we visited a mechanic. Of course, all that was useless by the time we grew up.
    
      I was able to accurately determine if someone was lying to me using my gift, and Andrew leased a hybrid (which, at the time were all serviced by their dealers anyway). Still, I didn't mind the know-how.
    
      Janet and I were at her place one weekend, going through all the motions with our family's fleet of cars: checking the tire pressure, cleaning the radiators, changing the motor oil, refilling other fluids, and just examining the cars' bodies for dings and signs of rust. And while the eco-condo's garage easily held eight cars (four on each side of the elevator), its driveway wasn't great for working on them.
    
      Janet's driveway was long and deeply set-back (her property's set-back was nearly fifteen feet, which was perfect) so her garage became something of my domain as it filled up with a wall full of tools, parts, and charts (all secured in case of a quake of course).
    
      We went from my First's boxy Camry (which ran very smoothly thanks to her weekly trips to CostCo and her keeping it in a garage) to Melanie's Volkswagon Beetle (the new version based off the VW Golf's chassis) which she bought because it was Nintendo's "Pika-car". After the smaller cars were done -- Jamie's second-hand Civic, my Corolla, and Rachelle's Element -- I moved onto the larger vehicles: Jamie, Janet, and Shawn each owned a mini-van.
    
      This was for the sheer number of kids we had to shuttle around. Janet talked the other two into buying them. Despite being burdened by her own mortgage, my First was always willing to demonstrate she was the "mature one" in the bunch (despite the fact she could resort to some really immature shit both in bed and when she was jealous).
    
      Since a car was a car (even if it was a second-hand car), the trio purchased three used Siennas from a Toyota dealership in Colma. The three of them wrangled a pretty good deal even without my interference. While Janet, Jamie, and Shawn "owned" the vans, they were more often than not parked in my building with the keys (and booster/carseats) hanging next to the elevator so anyone could use them in a hurry.
    
      Of course, I didn't really need my First there to help with the maintenance schedule, but I wanted her around. Apart from trying to bond with my darling Janet, I actually needed a second person present to channel mind-sight through so I'd know when to stop the car when going up the ramp.
    
      I suppose I could've stood to the side and simply pushed on the car's chassis (while it was in neutral) but seeing a driverless car roll silently up an oil change ramp was too obvious.
    
      In any case, our heated discussion about Andrew's and Sachiko's break-up quickly dissolved as we set our minds to work. I found I was able to "nudge" the argument out of her mind by persuading her we'd best leave it alone. I knew it was better anyway; Yu-Ching had already promised me she'd do something about it.
    
      In any case, I was probably going to go to bat for my little brother -- that's if I had the chance to get close to Sachiko and warp her mind without arousing suspicion.
    
      "So you got all that?" I asked as the last car was done.
    
      "I think so."
    
      Janet was physically tired despite the fact she dressed for the occasion. She hadn't had this much strenuous physical activity since we fucked as teenagers. She sat down and rubbed her ankles while I checked a few final things on Janet's mini-van (I noticed one of her parking lights had gone out and dutifully replaced it).
    
      I grinned as I watched her body twist, her arms flex, and her lovely face yawning from today's effort. Janet had worn a pair of old overalls she had picked up at a thrift store expressly for the purpose of rough tasks around the house. The top she was wearing was paint-splattered short-sleeved body-hugging T-shirt that snugly wrapped around her tits.
    
      "What the hell are you looking at?" Janet caught me staring.
    
      I grinned and gave her a sly wink. She sniffed audibly and turned away in disgust. I knew that apart from her overalls and t-shirt, the only other thing she was wearing were a pair of Lady Hanes. I knew because I peeked. Instead of ogling my wife, I probably should've been paying attention. I put my hand down on the tray of parts sitting on the engine compartment and tipped the whole thing over.
    
      "Goddammit!" I swore loudly and Janet shook her head.
    
      "Fong-fei-a-li*," she admonished me. [* Cantonese: Clumsy and sloppy! (a verbal beration)]
    
      Normally, it wouldn't have been anything out of the ordinary, but the tool tray was what I used to store various nuts, bolts, screws, washers, and other small items. Because I was lazy, I also used it hold some of the smaller turning signal and parking light bulbs. After I crawled around to pick up all the loose parts and locating the small bulbs that were still intact, I saw Janet's pensive stare had turned to shock.
    
      "Something wrong?" I started to laugh then I winced.
    
      "Ow." I looked down and saw my hands were quite bloody. I didn't even notice I had injured myself as I scrambled madly trying to grab the spilled contents back into the tray. Something cut me at just the right angle (and at just the right spot) at the base of my palm to release a large stream of blood.
    
      "Are you okay?" Janet ran up to me with a damp paper towel and a roll of gauze.
    
      "I think so." I made a face and started walking towards the laundry sink.
    
      "Stop, stop!" Her voice rose to a near panic. "Let's get you bandaged first!"
    
      I stood still as Janet picked the wound clean of dirt, bits of glass, and debris. I grimaced slightly when she wiped off the initial mess of blood. As I expected, a fresh pulse of blood instantly welled up and oozed out from the wound. Luckily, my injury wasn't that serious, but I noticed Janet's hands were shaking as she wrapped my hand with gauze.
    
      "I'll be all right," I assured her, "Thanks."
    
      "You should be more careful," Janet said.
    
      "Sure no problem," I said and began clearing stuff from the driveway.
    
      "Don't just say it like that!" she snapped angrily.
    
      "Well, how do you want me to say it?" I asked and dragged the carjack noisily over the sidewalk.
    
      Janet composed herself and said, "Say it like you mean it."
    
      I stopped, stood, and encircled her with the arm with my good hand to hug her.
    
      "Well, I believe you do care." I grinned.
    
      "Stop joking around." Janet punched my shoulder. "I'm serious!"
    
      She was about to say more when I silenced her with a kiss. She responded less than enthusiastically, but I felt her mind and body relax as I teased her mouth for a good minute or two.
    
      "I'm glad you feel better," Janet said once I stopped to catch my breath, "C'mon, let's get cleaned up for dinner, okay?"
    
      I nodded in quick agreement. That weekend was a fun one despite my injury. It hurt when I flexed my palm. My First took notice and made a bad joke that I was now reliant on her and the girls for relief and comfort.
    
      "Relief?" I asked her, "What? Why?"
    
      "You know why." Janet stuck her tongue out and resumed her cooking.
    
      She kept her language clean because the kids were around. My four sons were sitting around the table tonight because Melanie had to work at the Cliff House; the two older boys were also being punished. Shawn, Rachelle, and Jamie were having their own little soiree at the eco-condo with the girls.
    
      While we didn't want to segregate the girls from the boys, Michael and Milhail had been misbehaving and playing pranks on their sisters -- hiding their shoes, ripping the heads off of their dolls, and just general harassment.
    
      I condoned none of that behavior; it wasn't the busted toys but rather the sheer audacity of their bullying that rattled me. When we finally found out why Jenny was crying because someone decapitated her dolls, and Janelle and Danielle so quietly distressed, and Kady hopping mad because she couldn't find her shoes, Janet and I grounded Michael and Milhail for a week.
    
      The boys were talking mostly about videogames and cartoons (the usual) instead of schoolwork. They had reason to be happy, since their punishment was going to end tonight. Frederick was happily munching on some fishsticks while little Norman was content in pushing (or throwing) away anything he didn't want to eat.
    
      It was a typical family night; Melanie's Playstation 3 (she hooked it up and left it at Janet's place because of the big-ass HDTV) was something the boys were looking forward to playing once their punishment expired.
    
      After dinner, I squeezed the last bit of punishment from the kids and had them help me do the dishes, laundry, and trash. Now free, the three older boys occupied with videogames downstairs while Janet and I got Norman cleaned up and ready for bed. Melanie's son was far less fussy than the other boys -- something that made him a favorite of all my darlings -- and the little tot was soon happily snoozing in Frederick's old crib.
    
      Despite my injury, I was feeling rather frisky and I kept giving Janet the eye throughout the meal until she gave me a swift kick under the table.
    
      "Stop it buddy," she growled when she leaned over to borrow some salt. "Not in the mood, and not in your condition."
    
      "What condition?" I gave her an annoyed glance. "It's just my hand."
    
      "Exactly," my First said gruffly, "You can get infected if you do what you normally do."
    
      I was about to say more when she lashed out with her foot once more.
    
      'Shut it!' Janet seemed to say, and I relented until we were alone. Of course, that was before she got ready for bed. Now that she was full and content, my First was feeling as randy and as bawdy as I earlier in the evening.
    
      "Let's make it a quickie," Janet's breaths quickened as I pulled her top off, "Or the boys will get curious and wander up here."
    
      "Don't worry," I kidded her, "They'll be busy with those games for a while. Besides if they see us, they'll just think I'm hurting you."
    
      "Fuck you." She extended her middle finger. "You want to screw them up for life?"
    
      "Don't tell _me_ you never thought about it."
    
      "About them walking in on us?" Janet stared at me in shock. "That's sick!"
    
      "No," I said mischievously, "I meant about your own parents doing it and you walking in on them."
    
      "Gross." She made a face and glared at me. "You know you're talking yourself out of some good nooky, right?"
    
      "Enough talk." I pulled her close and kissed her. "Schnoo-schnoo now!"
    
      My First chuckled at the piece of dated Futurama slang and happily returned my affection. Our bodies fresh from the shower, I savored the sweet heavenly scent of Janet's skin. I dropped little kisses over her soft, petite body. She shivered as I worked from her face, down her neck, over her breasts, and down her stomach.
    
      "Oh fuck yeah," Janet panted lightly, "Like that. Do it just like that."
    
      The spicy taste of her cooze enticed me to explore the contours of my First's belly, waist, buttocks, and thighs. I rolled her over and kissed her backside while pinching and squeezing good portions of her body. At her current age (37), Janet was still fit but I could feel the tight supple flesh had slowly been changing to a softer, more tender "feel".
    
      Two decades did that to people no matter how much they worked out. Still, I found it more exciting to find out how quickly we could get each other to cum if we weren't fucking around with foreplay. Janet must've sensed my change in mood, because she flipped around and lay me flat on the bed.
    
      I grunted with delight. This position was one of my all-time favorites with all my darlings, although some liked it more than others. Viktoriya -- for one -- was only happy if she was facing me while fucking. Despite our innate ability to communicate by mental broadcast, my dusky Russkie loved watching my face as I plowed her field.
    
      Janet though, didn't care. It was as if she had known me all my life. She slid herself over my body, her smooth thighs and buttocks teasing my swollen dick. I bit her shoulder gently and she let out a satisfied sigh.
    
      "C'mon fella." Janet's fingers grabbed my cock. "Let's -- ooh!!"
    
      I grunted with pleasure as my penis slipped against Janet's milky white thighs. Ever since I had started out-growing my lovely Lady Wu in body size, she's been trying out some of the positions Melanie had confessed to doing when we were younger. Hot-dogging Janet while I spooned her was something we both enjoyed.
    
      Janet reached down, her fingernails teasing the top of my prick while she massaged my shaft between her groin. I reached around her, gently squeezing her nipples with my injured hand and rubbing her stomach with my good one. I cautiously extended my telekinesis and "double-rolled" her -- from the inside, my telekinesis formed a gentle rippling curve while from the outside, my hand pressed down in just the right spot.
    
      My First gasped and I felt her body tense up in response to my probing. She reached back with her other hand and ran her lacquered nails through my hair -- just like how Shawn would when she was with me. The feeling was so good, I had to concentrate hard to stop myself from frying Janet's synapses. I reciprocated slowly and broadcast a weak stream of wanton emotion to my lovely mate.
    
      "Tug me! Jerk me! Fuck me!" Janet rasped as she gyrated her hips over mine, "Pig-stick me, you mean motherfucker!"
    
      "Oh-my-sweetness," I grunted as I breathed in Janet's lovely musk.
    
      She dug her nails a bit more into my cock and I felt a sharp surge of pain-pleasure as she changed her technique. Janet tensed up her thighs like a yoga exercise, suffocating my fuck rod. My dick was already slick with pre-cum and from her juices; it took little effort to slip my cock into her gaping vagina.
    
      "Oh gawd!" Janet inhaled sharply as I shifted my focus a bit to be in tune with my penetration.
    
      "Feel good sweetie?" I murmured in her ear.
    
      "Like you wouldn't believe," she shivered as I saw her skin get goosebumps from my efforts.
    
      So, with a little well-meaning attention, Janet's fears and suspicions about Rosalind were quickly squashed. When I finally spunked into her waiting womb, I was confident my First would stop her nosing around, and that she'd stop interfering with Andrew's affairs. I wished other things fell together so easily.
    
      While I could confide some things to Janet, I kept silent about certain issues that were of no concern to her. Besides, I had other worries and frustrations that few 'normals' could comprehend. Luckily, I had Viktoriya to vent to. Of course, my Russian beauty had her own problems -- problems I had to deal with in addition to my dumb-ass brother's.
    
    ===============================================================================
      INTERLUDE -- MY LITTLE BROTHER
    ===============================================================================
    
      Compared to Andrew, I got off easy from the whole affair. And Melanie was true to her word: she arranged a rotating schedule of grouping the kids into study and play groups with my other darlings. Henceforth the kids were all together and overseen by one other mother at least one or two days of the week.
    
      If all five available moms and the one dad were too busy, Shawn's mother watched them in the guest unit or her place in Alamo Square. Now, I was able to have some peace and quiet. While I didn't neglect the kids, they were still a bit too young for the tasks I wanted them to do.
    
      Melanie also kept her other promises: she kept mum about Rosalind and she spoke with Sachiko. Even with the combined efforts of Melanie and me pleading for Andrew's case, Sachiko staunchly held out. For a time, I wondered if Andrew's former girlfriend was some sort of psychic freak of nature -- Sachiko wasn't buying into our story.
    
      Before I could try anything with Andrew's ex, she relocated to Seattle for her new job. This sudden move came as a surprise, but it may have had something to do with me making headway with her older sister.
    
      At first, Gracia was on Sachiko's side; however, she became neutral to the affair after I broached the subject at the end of one of our meetings. Since I could approach Gracia without arousing suspicion, I worked my persuasion and convinced her to stay on the sidelines.
    
      From Sachiko's view, I had done some spade work on her older sister and the little witch wasn't too happy about it. Sachiko never forgave Andrew completely. That in itself put a freeze in their relationship for a time.
    
      During their break, Andrew threw himself at women -- not just Alexia but also several others too, including Kimberly, who was inclined to fuck anything with a cock and a hundred bucks, and Sasha, who asked if the Brothers Chen were brave enough to double-team all three of her holes (I declined but Andrew later confided she had all the makings of a sex addict).
    
      My brother buried himself into the thick of things to forget Sachiko but he still couldn't let go. Despite his mood of reckless abandonment, he kept silent on how the whole affair started. Happily (for me) so did Alexia, although I later learned it was because he had threatened her if she caused our family any more trouble.
    
      Regardless of the troubles Andrew had, Alexia found him attractive enough to put up with his eccentricities. Nonetheless, several things were working against them.
    
      Andrew worked for the U.S. Army as a civilian medical contractor. He had the job of counseling the bereaved families of soldiers killed in action, as well as physically injured survivors, and separating the conscientious objectors from the cowards. He was also tasked with passing or failing soldiers (especially those with a Muslim background) perceived by their superiors to develop problems.
    
      This was to minimize the number of incidents in the army where soldiers would engage in prejudicial practices against their Muslim comrades out of fear and ignorance, and the inevitable backlash that would follow.
    
      My little brother seemed a good solution as any for the Army brass: a pagan Chinese shrink assessing Middle-Eastern Islamic soldiers in a white man's Judeo-Christian army. While Andrew was open-minded and tolerant, he became increasingly disturbed by the viciousness and pettiness of the army's chain of command.
    
      This made him definitely more dour, more cynical, and less approachable. This, coupled with the miserly pay of psychologists contracted to the armed forces, pretty much dispelled the mystique Alexia had for Andrew.
    
      The two broke up after a month of dating, although my brother was right about one thing: the two did click on some level. While Alexia and Andrew no longer saw each other exclusively, they remained good friends; Andrew even introduced Alexia to her new boyfriend, a friend of his classmate who worked at the main office of Wells Fargo. That seemed to validate Yu-Ching's view about the Greco-Chinese girl being a gold-digger.
    
      Single again, Andrew found some unexpected help came from -- of all people -- Rachelle. My little brother liked and trusted her more than my other darlings. Andrew and Rachelle got along well when she and I were dating (back in school). When she and Janet were still on non-speaking terms, Rachelle hardly got lonesome because my brother would occasionally drop by and help her take care of the twins.
    
      It was to Rachelle whom Andrew now appealed for advice, and she did what she thought was right. My mocha-skinned mate decided it was a good idea to set up Andrew with Ami.
    
      Rachelle's circle of friends had been big throughout her life. Even her break-up with Craig didn't dent it much (just her move from Los Angeles). While Heidi stayed in Los Angeles after being widowed, Ghandia had moved back to Northern California after breaking up with her previous boyfriend (the dumbass I met at Jon-Peter's funeral).
    
      Ghandia dated a new guy, an Indian (from India, not an aboriginal American) software engineer who moonlighted as a disc jockey in several South Bay nightclubs. Rachelle arranged an impromptu reunion of old friends and college sorority sisters. The reason?
    
      'I got a new job!! Time to celebrate!' Rachelle literally screamed in her email.
    
      I know what she wrote because I peeked. That, plus I did some mental wet-work at the San Francisco Presido and landed my black beauty a job at Lucasarts. Among those at the soiree was Ami. She had moved back to the city to stay near her parents after she completed her university studies. Andrew and Ami got to talking, and before long, she was hanging around the old house.
    
      No one was more shocked than I.
    
      When I heard about it, I confronted Rachelle during one of our evenings. It was shortly after we made up after our spat at the Simmons wake, so I broached the topic gently, as not to have it break into another argument.
    
      "Uh, sugar?" I asked, "How's Ami going to help Andrew out of this?"
    
      "I just said he should talk to his friends and check out his options," Rachelle said absently. "Almost the same thing you said!"
    
      "That was in regards to Alexia." I jerked my thumb sideways for emphasis. "I didn't actually mean for him to try another dish."
    
      "Bullcrap!" She put her hands on her hips. "You told them to stop talking to one another while you and Mel sort things out. How's that s'posed to work, Stanley? Even you didn't do that when you were seeing me and Janet!"
    
      "Well, I --" I stopped and wondered if I was meddling too much. Had I picked up my darlings' penchant for sticking my nose into the business of others?
    
      "Besides, Ami is good friend." My black beauty's eyes practically sparkled as she pictured Ami and Andrew in her mind. "She's been supportive of both of you all these years. How did you not see this coming?"
    
      "I dunno." I shrugged. "I guess it never crossed my mind."
    
      "It never crossed your mind that those two could fall for one other?" Rachelle laughed softly. "Oh sugar, now you're yanking my chain."
    
      "Honestly, it didn't cross my mind at all." I looked at her in bewilderment. "How could anyone see this?"
    
      "I could." She studied me carefully. "I guess it just took some time for them to realize it!"
    
      "Now you're yanking my chain." I gave her a wry grin. "Don't tell me you can tell the future."
    
      "If I could, I'd hit the lottery first," Rachelle sighed, "But I just pick up on how things are. Sometimes love is just plain weird. You just have to let it run its course naturally, right?"
    
      "It's still not helping Sachiko and Andrew," I insisted.
    
      "Screw that!" Rachelle growled, "Just let Andrew decide; Sachiko seems to have already! That's why he's in this mess, right? Because you told him to date more girls to even the score?"
    
      "I didn't tell him that -- not exactly." I felt my face grow hot before I asked the obvious question: "Who told you that?"
    
      "Everyone!" the mulatto said flatly. "But this is something your brother needs to work out himself, even if everyone's giving him advice. If he wasn't happy with Sachiko, it won't work out no matter what _we_ think. It'll work out if it works out, get it?"
    
      "I guess so," I murmured and stroked her hand tenderly, "When'd you become so wise?"
    
      Rachelle sniffed sharply as she regarded me with an annoyed but mirthful gaze.
    
      "When I married you, you dense doofus. I always wondered about what you and I had, but I guess things --"
    
      "Worked out?" I finished for her.
    
      "Well I'm here, aren't I?" Rachelle was on the verge of being really irritated. "For better or worse!"
    
      "For better." I took her hands in mine. "Thank you, sugar."
    
      "You're welcome," she kissed my nose.
    
      So Rachelle was right. Ami never disappointed as a friend -- why would she as part of the family? Ultimately, I'd say the whole affair resolved itself quite nicely, if oddly. But I'll speak more of it later, because I had problems of my own around that time.
    
    ===============================================================================
      VIKTORIYA'S DILEMMA
    ===============================================================================
    
      Just a few months ago, Viktoriya was nearly beside herself after we told her what happened with Milhail at the zoo. Unfortunately, there was little she could do since she was out of the country. The night of the incident, Viktoriya was cheering on Freya in Germany.
    
      The ballroom dancing circuit and rhythmic gymnastics competitions didn't really coincide, but she made time for the skinny, blonde Dutch waife. If I didn't know Viktoriya had earnestly fallen in love with Freya, I would've been the densest man on earth.
    
      Nonetheless, the "incident" with Milhail did give Viktoriya a sincere fright. She and I arranged for me to fly out to New York City with Milhail so he could see his mother for the first time in two years. Again bad luck interfered -- this time in the form of illness.
    
      Our son came down with influenza (incidentally, infecting nearly everyone else) and he was confined to my unit with the other sick kids. With Milhail and me sick, I postponed the trip until he got better. Unfortunately by the time Milhail and I were fine to travel, school had started.
    
      Viktoriya was definitely frustrated. Cristobel was still convalescing from his injury from May. This meant Viktoriya was either dancing with partners she detested, or who didn't match her temperment and skill level.
    
      With all the chaos in her life, I was sure I'd hear no end of it when I would finally bring Milhail to New York City for Thanksgiving. So, with those plans made, I was understandably concerned when my assistant Pam interrupted a meeting I was attending in early October.
    
      It wasn't just any meeting -- it was one of the first official ones I had with Shawn, and we were both enjoying ourselves. Her firm and mine were working jointly for the Delancey Street Project; it was something that involved having DSP's rehabilitated substance addicts working on solar energy collection stations in the city.
    
      Even Jules Fontana was there. We tapped him to get on board with the project for his expertise and for him to pitch a few ideas he had worked on over the years since the eco-condo's solar wall. For people in the business like Shawn, Jules, and me it was more like fun and not really work.
    
      "Mr. Chen? Sir?" Pam squeaked, "I'm sorry to interrupt, but it's your son's principal. She says it's urgent."
    
      "Goddammit," I hissed through clenched teeth, "I'm going to ship that kid off to military school if he's in that much trouble."
    
      No, I thought. I'd likely do more than that. I probably would've wiped his brain as I had with those banditos and gang-bangers, and re-write his ass once he was older. It would've saved money for the military school, but I wasn't sure how his birth-mother Viktoriya would've thought about it.
    
      Then, I remembered how Milhail had tormented his sisters and I grew smug; Viktoriya would probably help me out once she knew the details. Maybe she and I could open a "discipline academy" if things didn't work out -- just spend our days brain-washing unruly teenagers and get paid handsomely for it.
    
      I saw Shawn gulp at the corner of my eye, but she dared not utter a word. At work, my plump petunia and I acted like close colleagues, but not a couple. Apart from our closest friends and family, we never introduced ourselves as husband and wife. The bigamy case really did a number on all of us, making us leery and suspicious.
    
      Still, Shawn was a busy mother. My doughty darling was the nicest one in the family (apart from Melanie). That was probably one reason why hard-headed Kady was so hard-headed in the first place. Compared to the other women, Shawn was a big softie when it came to discipline.
    
      Jamie knew when to draw the line and correct the kids (especially as Jillian grew into a teenager). Like Janet, my leggy Asian beauty would habitually punish the kids if they did something wrong. Even the normally mellow Melanie meted out punishment, as did Rachelle (although the mulatto's 'punishments' were more along the lines of chores she'd rather not do herself).
    
      Thankfully, the twin girls, Jillian, and her sister Jenny weren't much trouble. But Kady -- she was something else. She often got into as much mischief as the boys, and she was even more vindictive.
    
      After Milhail and Michael had played their latest prank on her, Kady got her revenge. When she was being watched by Janet, she got into the boys' room, took a box of my crushed colored chalks (Shawn and I used them for concept drawings) and poured their contents into the sock drawers. Kady had to content herself with just dirtying her brothers' socks, because she wasn't high enough to reach the other drawers.
    
      When Janet found the mess, I swore she was about to burst a blood vessel. Luckily, Shawn was present and picked up our little hard-case before my First smacked Kady's bottom raw.
    
      Shawn coddled her daughter so much, even Mother Benton was having a hard time getting her to behave. I often had to discipline Kady, which sent the little troublemaker running to her birth-mother for amnesty. Still, my darling dumpling was mindful of my temper (having experienced it when we were younger). She quickly sought a round-a-bout way to calm me down.
    
      "Don't be mad Stanley," Shawn piped up as I rose, "I'll take notes for you."
    
      That elicited some odd stares from some, although old man Jules nodded slightly. Fontana had met Kady and knew who her parents were, though he never publicly said a thing about it; we appreciated his discretion.
    
      "Thanks," I said as I slipped outside and took the call.
    
      "Mr. Chen?" a gritty female voice was on the other end.
    
      "Speaking," I said, "Who's this?"
    
      "This is Principal Olivia Munichek from Lawrence Elementary. Your son Mee--, Myhale?"
    
      "Yes, Milhail," I corrected her gently, "What'd he do?"
    
      "Do?" the principal sounded surprised, "Oh no, Milhail isn't in trouble. It's just that -- his mother -- or someone claiming to be his mother is here, but she's not using the name on the emergency contact list."
    
      "Oh." I frowned, despite the fact she couldn't see me.
    
      With so many kids, I had forgotten who was on whose emergency list. We had agreed to use the kid's birth mother and my name as the prime emergency contacts. However, Milhail was a bit of a problem. His mother was a thousand miles away, as was his maternal grandparents.
    
      My own parents were at work, so I never bothered them with the stuff we were supposed to be responsible for anyway. So, Janet and Melanie had coordinated with Viktoriya when Milhail was enrolled. Someone's name was put down there -- likely Janet or Melanie -- I just didn't know who off the top of my head.
    
      "And -- um, Mr. Chen?" Principal Munichek cleared her throat, "I don't want to alarm you, but Milhail didn't recognize the woman. I brought them into separate conference rooms so we can clear this matter up."
    
      My mind quickly rose to full alert. Was this another kidnapping attempt? I felt my insides grow numb.
    
      "Ah, I see," I waved Pam over and scrawled a note to give to Shawn. "Would you be able to bullshit them for about twenty minutes? I'll be there to sort this out."
    
      "Of course Mr. Chen," the principal lowered her voice, "But please refrain from using such language when you come to school."
    
      "Yeah sure." I slammed the phone down harder than I wanted. I jotted down a quick note: GOING TO MILHAIL'S SCHOOL. HAVE LAURA CHECK ON KIDS. I folded it in half and gave it to Pam with instructions to pass it onto Shawn before I zipped out of the office.
    
      Fifteen minutes later, I hopped out of my cab after having connected with Shawn and Mother Benton. They each quickly checked on the kids (Jillian at middle school, Michael at the elementary school, the young ones at the house) and remained on alert. I passed a $50 bill to the driver and ran into school without waiting for change. Man, I never thought I'd pay good money to speed _back_ to school.
    
      A security guard led me to the principal's office where I introduced myself as Milhail's father. Principal Munichek was a short, sour-faced woman in her sixties who was like someone's feisty old grandmother. She was full of energy despite her age, and her quick movements revealed a mind untouched by the ravages of time.
    
      "It's a precaution, you see Mr. Chen," she told me as we walked towards the office with the mystery visitor.
    
      "I understand your concern," I said with a mellow tone, "School's changed plenty since I was here."
    
      "Oh?" the dwarfish principal looked at me sideways. "What class were you?"
    
      "1985," I said sheepishly, "Sorry, ma'am. I still get nervous when I'm heading to the principal's office."
    
      The lively crone laughed gaily and gestured, "This way Mr. Chen. The lady inside is --"
    
      "Viktoriya?!" I stopped and stared.
    
      "Stanislav!" my Baltic beauty brightened instantly as she ran towards me. The two of us embraced passionately as the white-haired principal took a step back in surprise.
    
      "You know her?" Munichek asked with some shock.
    
      "Of course." I felt the panic that had been building up in me give way to relief. "This is Milhail's mother, Viktoriya."
    
      "See? I told you!" The brunette glowered at the small crone. "Milhail just hasn't seen me for a while."
    
      "Well I see." The principal regarded us with grandmotherly disapproval. "I guess there's no harm in bringing the boy in now."
    
      "Please do." I smiled weakly as the old woman left. I turned to my lovely Russian darling, a million questions on my mind.
    
      "What're you doing here?" I asked her audibly and proceeded to bombard her with thought-speech: 'Why didn't you tell me you were coming?' 'How are you?' 'Are you all right?' 'How long are you staying?'
    
      "To visit!" Viktoriya smiled and kissed me several times on my cheeks and mouth, answering my other questions as best she could: 'I wanted to surprise you.' 'I am fine!' 'I'm glad to see you!'
    
      Only my final few questions did she disregard. As much as I wanted to press her for an answer, Milhail's shout of, "Dad!" grabbed our attention and he ran up to me and hugged me. Instantly, I felt Viktoriya's pang of jealousy and despair. My Slavic siren sat down, her whole person reserved, calmed, and sad. The principal bade some curious onlookers to clear the way and she shut the door to the conference room.
    
      "Dad." Milhail tugged at me so I leaned in close for him to whisper, "Who's that?"
    
      Viktoriya kept a brave smile for her son, but I sensed her mind broadcasting sadness to any who could've picked up her thoughts.
    
      "That's your mom," I said simply, "Don't you remember?"
    
      "You mean 'Phone-mom'?" he looked at me astonished.
    
      "I think 'mom' will do just fine." I ruffled his hair, but the boy remained silent.
    
      "Milhail," Viktoriya reached hesitantly for the boy, "Remember when I used to sing to you? And you told me how you loved the cartoon --"
    
      'Yu-Gi-Oh Duellist's Destiny.' I pinged her a reminder.
    
      "-- You-Ghee-Oh?" my dusky Russkie butchered the franchise that had been cloned from Nintendo's Pokemon.
    
      "Kinda," Milhail sounded doubtful. The boy made no move towards his mother, preferring instead to hide behind me. I glanced at Viktoriya, whose self-discipline was stretched to the breaking point. She wanted to cry, but she'd dare not to. Thinking quickly, I took her by the hand and calmed her as best I could.
    
      "C'mon," I said quietly, "Let's call it a day. We have lots to talk about."
    
      Back home, everyone breathed a big sigh of relief (especially Melanie) when they learned it was Viktoriya who had came into town to see her son. It wasn't another kidnapping attempt, but just to be sure, I pinged and re-pinged the neighborhood to make sure.
    
      While Pincelli may have been scared off for now, I had a feeling he might be up to something after I made good with my own threats a few weeks ago. I filed a mental note to mind-hop the son of a bitch and check up on what he and his lieutenants were doing, just in case. I didn't want to take any chances.
    
      As for Viktoriya, everyone gave her a warm welcome and we headed out to an Olive Garden for a big family dinner. Despite putting Milhail next to Viktoriya, he preferred joshing, jostling, and joking with his brother Michael and making spit bubbles in his soda than conversation with his birth-mother.
    
      That night, I was with Viktoriya as she cried in my arms. She rapidly unloaded a mass of hurtful, angry barbs at Janet, Melanie, and me for alienating her from her son. Deep down though, we both knew she was partly to blame. Not being there for his most formative younger years meant as Milhail became aware of who "he" was and his brain formed concrete thoughts, he thought of Janet and my other darlings as his "moms" rather than Viktoriya.
    
      It's true what they say: "Out of sight" is "out of mind." Although Viktoriya could've telepathically stayed in touch with Milhail, we both agreed to restrict our gifts on the children. Aside from the potential for physical harm we could inflict, there was no telling how the others would react.
    
      When venting wasn't enough, Viktoriya began attacking the furniture. It wasn't physical assault though -- the furniture could've survived that. Instead, she was lashing out with her gift. With her telekinesis being boosted in my proximity, I was afraid she'd do serious damage to the support joints that held the building together.
    
      "Vika." I took her in my hands and shook her gently. "Stop it! That's enough!"
    
      "Nyet! Nyet! Nyet!!" Viktoriya struggled against me, her cheeks wet and her hair a brazen mess.
    
      'Stop this foolishness.' I held her as tightly as I could without hurting her. 'Wrecking the building isn't going to help Milhail.'
    
      As I broadcast a thin feed of calming thoughts to her, Viktoriya slowly stopped her tantrum, but she still wore a vehement look on her face as she sunk into the wreckage of the couch. It was a good couch, I looked on ruefully. Viktoriya had made artful selections from Gracia's catalogs years ago. When I looked back at her, I saw her gaze sadly around her home in San Francisco.
    
      "I -- I used to roll him up the walls," Viktoriya said suddenly, "He loved it when I let him drop just a bit before I'd swoop in to catch him."
    
      I arched a brow, a bit surprised she had treated our son like an exercise ball. True, I used telekinesis to a mild degree on my darlings, but never so directly on the children. It was too risky on their small bodies. If I over-compensated or under-compensated or slipped slightly in my focus, I might've torn something or killed them.
    
      Viktoriya's gift though, was so much more potent that she was able to gently apply pressure across the whole of a newborn baby's body and not even leave a mark. I knelt beside my dance loving darling without saying a word. All I could think of was how to mend things.
    
      'Mend?' The Baltic brunette picked up my immediate thoughts easily. 'I don't think I can.'
    
      'There'll be time.' I brushed her cheek gently.
    
      'I hate it, Stanislav.' Viktoriya's lips trembled as she began crying again. 'I hate it all.'
    
      Her grief was so alarming, it rattled my mind and threatened to put me under. Had my Russian darling's gifts evolved like mine had over time? Was she more susceptible to wild swings of emotion? I could only guess at the possibilities as I sought to comfort the weeping woman.
    
      'Don't remind me.' I thought-spoke. 'But we'll figure something out okay? We always do.'
    
      'But what _can_ I do?!' Viktoriya sniffed. 'Even if I can teach here, I love Freya. But she's adamant about staying in New York.'
    
      Her frank and sudden revelation hardly jolted me. But with all the things that had been going on: my professional responsibilities, my private obligations, my projects, my hobbies, and my family, I felt completely dead and worn out.
    
      "Vika?" I spoke softly, "Would you like to take Milhail to New York to live with you?"
    
      "What?!" Viktoriya glared at me and spoke aloud, "Are you sure? But his brothers and sisters --!"
    
      "He'll be fine without them for a while."
    
      "No!" She pushed away slightly. "Not even for a moment."
    
      I suspected I knew why. The brunette beauty had not always been an only child. The mysterious disappearance of her half-brother had made her sensitive about Milhail's upbringing. Viktoriya did not intend to let her son experience growing up alone as she did. So, we debated our son's future not only that night, but the whole of the following day.
    
      She had taken a brief leave from her teaching to see Milhail, but she was squandering it on tit-for-tat arguments with me. While I finished my next set of plans for another project (a small renovation for the city's Farmers' Market), Viktoriya railed, bickered, and sniped every idea I was throwing out. I was beginning to wonder if my dusky Russkie simply flew back to San Francisco to to annoy the shit out of me.
    
      "Take him." I finally finished my plans and saved the project. "You and Freya can have a fun time with Milhail and you know it. It'll do him some good to be away from Michael's influence too."
    
      "Well, that's well meaning of you, but I still want his father around," Viktoriya snapped, "Freya doesn't have a dick --"
    
      "Until she straps one on," I interrupted her, "Look Vika. We both know where this is headed. He's our only child' he'll get used it, sweetheart."
    
      "But that's only if things were normal," she said flatly, "And things aren't!"
    
      I was tired of arguing and I only wanted this problem to be resolved.
    
      "I know." I rubbed my eyes. "But having him know his mother is important right now."
    
      'Stanislav.' Viktoriya touched my face gently. 'You're not telling me something.'
    
      My thoughts distracted and my mind weary, I had let her slip into my mind. I tried to put the memories into order. As I had mentioned before, my parents had been estranged for a few years before they reconciled.
    
      With my adrenaline flowing, the worrying I was doing, and the stress from work, I hadn't taken notice of the similarities between Milhail's and Viktoriya's reunion and the one I had with my own mother when I was younger.
    
      My own mother had walked back into my life when I was around Milhail's age. What was supposed to have been a happy reunion was anything but. My son was a braver soul than I though. Milhail didn't panic and cry when Viktoriya greeted him. My Russian darling instantly picked this up and shrank back in surprise.
    
      "Kisa?" she asked aloud, "Your mama -- left you?"
    
      "It was a long time ago," I shrugged uncomfortably, "Don't worry about it."
    
      'Stanislav.' Viktoriya took me by the hand before continuing in thought-speak: 'Why didn't you tell me?'
    
      'What for?' I withdrew my mind and my body, trying to quash the memory.
    
      'Because!' Her eyes widened as her hands touched mine. 'And for five years!?'
    
      My face froze with a weak smile. I was impassive about that incident because it was so long ago. Viktoriya was simply dredging up old hurt and she quickly sensed it.
    
      'I'm sorry Stanislav. But kisa, why did you hide this from me?'
    
      'It wasn't important.' I studied her lovely face. 'And besides, how's this relevant now?'
    
      'It is! It is!' Viktoriya hugged me tenderly. 'My mama and papa never left me alone. I may have been left at a studio when I was younger, but I always knew they were there for me. How awful it must have been that you didn't know that!'
    
      She drew back and dipped her head in shame. 'You must think terribly of me to do that to Milhail.'
    
      'Don't think it.' I hugged her tenderly and focused on her love for our son.
    
      "And what would he think if I don't stay?" she asked aloud.
    
      "It's not too late," I bumped foreheads with her. "Let's arrange for it okay?"
    
      'No.' Viktoriya sniffed and sighed. 'No, don't. I will call the institute tomorrow.'
    
      I glanced at her, weary but pleasantly surprised. If she caught my thoughts and thought me a selfish bastard, she didn't say it. Heck, she didn't even think it.
    
      'I will tell them I need to be with family.' Viktoriya swallowed and let out another heavier sigh. 'Right after I call Freya.'
    
      We sat like that for a while, reconnecting and trading thoughts at a rate that was faster than what we did when were were miles apart. Being physically together was far more satisfying. Soon, I felt the old urges arise. Viktoriya sensed it too and she rose to the occasion.
    
      'Come on.' She pulled me into the shower where we undressed.
    
      'It's been so long.' I traced a series of gentle bites along on her upper arm towards her neck.
    
      'Yes, it has.' Viktoriya shivered with pleasure as we nuzzled and groped one another.
    
       When the hot spray hit our bodies, I lathered and rinsed her ass-crack before I tongued her puckered shithole.
    
      'Oh, Stanislav! Do that!'
    
      Our bodies scrubbed clean and our minds abuzz from one another's presence, I carried her gently to her room and eased slowly into her. Viktoriya held me tightly as she sneezed once. I chuckled and kissed her cheek gently. Her dark eyes smoldered with desire as she pinched my nipples and gently scratched my neck. The raw skin-to-skin contact we shared only excited our physical love-making. Viktoriya cooed softly and kissed me as I began slowly moving my hips.
    
      'You do this so gently.' Viktoriya smiled wanly. 'Not like Freya.'
    
      'I thought women were more loving.' I thought-spoke.
    
      'They can be.' She grinned shyly. 'You've been so busy, I haven't heard much about the others! Has Jay been with anyone lately?'
    
      I thought back to the trip to Las Vegas before the kidnapping.
    
      'Just Rachelle.' I bit my lip gently. 'We had a three-way but nothing that was girl-on-girl.'
    
      'You're so self-centered.' Viktoriya stuck out her tongue and I suckled it before she admonished me further: 'And here I am encouraging you so I can enjoy myself.'
    
      'Pervert.' I gave her an accusing grin.
    
      'Takes one to know one.' Viktoriya gave me a toothy little smile and pawed my cheek.
    
      'So do you want to tell me more about Freya?' I stroked her face.
    
      'She's good company.' My dusky Russkie became thoughtful even while I dutifully fucked her. 'She's not Cristobel.'
    
      'Not like us you mean.' I dismissed the invisible empire from my mind.
    
      'That's correct.' Viktoriya dipped her eyes. 'Do you think it's wrong of me? To keep her like that?'
    
      'I'm ... I'm not sure. But if you ... want to ... I can't ...' I began thrusting her harder and harder. My thoughts were getting distracted as I plowed my Russian bride.
    
      'Oh I'm sorry kisa.' Viktoriya drew me down and embraced me. 'Slowly now. Slowly ... I have ... not ... had ... you in so long.'
    
      I sensed her thought-speech came out in bursts as she was losing her concentration. The two of us often found ourselves doing that as we neared sexual release. I felt her burning desire for me and for her partner Freya. Crazy thoughts drifted through Viktoriya's mind. She wished Freya had a dick and would fuck her raw, and vice versa. Those were some pretty kinky thoughts, and I glanced at Viktoriya oddly. My Baltic beauty caught my thoughts and grinned sheepishly.
    
      'It's just for fun!'
    
      'I'll say.' I thought-spoke briefly before I lurched forwards and came.
    
      "Eeeeee!!" Viktoriya held me tightly as a familiar warmth spread within her.
    
    ===============================================================================
      INTERLUDE -- BAD BUSINESS
    ===============================================================================
    
      The last few months of 2008 were pretty tame by most standards. The current administration was going into its lame duck period. NSA-PSI was still doing intelligence collection, but in a different direction. A lot of the focus now shifted to the domestic side. People like Faraz's sister Ami, became more the focus of our investigations, and for all the wrong reasons.
    
      If you thought U.S. policy makers launched operations in foreign countries just to secure fossil fuel, you'd only be partially right; they did send soldiers to the Middle East, but the Afghanistan theater was principally for the drug trade (mining the rare minerals and ores came later). To me, it made perfect sense. The drug traffickers in Mexico were where I had accrued most of my ill-gotten wealth in my youth.
    
      Additionally, the country's economy was taking a long nose-dive as several financial markets seemed to collapse (almost all at the same time). It wasn't simply the act of one man (Bernard Madoff was taking the heat), or one organization or entity (Goldman Sachs and AIG come to mind), or the repeal of the Glass-Steigal Act of 1933 (in 1999) but a rather a combination of everything.
    
      When things have been going wrong for some time, the mistakes compounded to become one REALLY big fuck-up. Personally, I regarded it all to be a massive mob-fuck mentality that had been going on since before I was born. In the ensuing wave of economic panic (coupled with the massive military expenditures overseas), people began getting pink slips and layoff notices.
    
      Thankfully, everyone seemed to be weathering the storm. Janet's firm cut staff, but she was retained after she agreed to a minor pay cut (she still bristles at that). Jamie's employer imposed a hiring and pay freeze, as did Rachelle's (she contended she was lucky to even land her new job). Only Melanie and Viktoriya both seemed unfazed -- but for different reasons.
    
      Melanie's job was never really a job _per se_ since she was almost always just popping up at her workplace when she felt like it; I harbored a suspicion she was unconsciously persuading the owners so she'd get things her way. Whether she was or wasn't, the management soon put her on a contracting basis (this meant they could skip paying her health benefits). Melanie made do with what money she earned. The rest of us chipped in and covered her other expenses. Janet and I later worked out that the domestic services Melanie provided were easily worth at least $70,000 a year (gross).
    
      "Geez," Jamie soured when she learned of it. "She makes more than me!"
    
      Actually, that was a half-truth. The other women never paid Melanie, but they always reimbursed her for groceries and supplies. Gasoline and cars were never a problem, since we pretty much kept all the cars filled up. I gave Melanie a monthly allowance so she could process her car payments, along with her auto and health insurance (her and the baby's). So, Melanie was a content little housewife despite the fact she was _not_ my wife (at least, not on paper).
    
      Only Shawn and I had serious trouble. While we both voluntarily reduced our own take-home pay once construction business slowed, there was no stopping the decline of development. Once building stopped, many of our colleagues had been laid off; Grace, Shawn, Jules, and I were now ear-marked for the unemployment line when people decided they didn't need that many designers and engineers anymore.
    
      Jules, older and far more experienced in the market than the three of us combined, began lining up work with agencies and other entites. The green bandwagon was a cash cow, and between Shawn's solar wall design and Grace's knowledge of materials, the four of us formed a partnership to handle rebuilding and renovation of the big slice of old houses and buildings that were built "pre-green".
    
      Shawn and Jules handled the mechanics and engineering, Grace oversaw materials and applications, and I wound up back in my old spot: drafting the construction drawings. The work wasn't easy -- just different. Since the buildings were already in place, the work was to do overlays of the existing plans with our modifications.
    
      I still wanted to pinch Shawn about the name though: Green-Haus. It came up during one of her silly moods. Grace loved it and I thought they were both just being idiots. Jules could've cared less so long as it was something novel we could sell. In any case, the name stuck and that was the name of our partnership.
    
      In Viktoriya's case, things were a bit more haphazard. Her employment at the institute didn't pay much and just covered the bare necessities -- an apartment with Freya, her commute, and food. That's one reason why Viktoriya wasn't ashamed in using her gifts a bit more openly than I.
    
      I was so worried about what she might try to do, I gave her a monthly allowance as well. This was to insure the impetuous Russian rascal wouldn't try something foolish, and get in trouble with the invisible empire.
    
    ===============================================================================
      OF MEN AND WOMEN
    ===============================================================================
    
      Of course, once Viktoriya came back to San Francisco to be with Milhail, things were a little different. Seeking to make herself useful, the Baltic beauty applied to the various dance companies in the city. Regretably, many weren't wholly interested in a dancer at the twilight of her prime (she and I were both 33 at the time).
    
      However, there was an interesting twist of fortune. Between the airings of popular ballroom dance shows (ABC's "Dancing with the Stars" and PBS's "America's Ballroom Challenge") there was a growing interest in traditional ballroom dance.
    
      With Janet's connections, Viktoriya found work as a private dance instructor for couples eager to learn. Jamie quickly created a site for my dusky Russkie to advertise herself (search optimization was easy once one realized how search engines worked), Shawn and Melanie pitched in on the graphics, and Rachelle helped produce short clips of Viktoriya demonstrating her skill.
    
      Ballroom dancing didn't have much going for it locally, but Viktoriya found part-term employment at a small ballroom school in San Bruno just as I left the country. She also arranged for private lessons on the side.
    
      For those, Viktoriya relied on the generosity of San Francisco's Community College; since the lessons taught there were non-credit, she'd simply borrow a small corner to teach her own students.
    
      Of course, I knew this was pushing it pretty far: Viktoriya wasn't really a college teacher, but she managed to con others into thinking she was part of the college class so she wasn't bothered. I made it a point to look for studio space once I got back so she could teach without hassled, and without me worrying that she'd reveal her true nature.
    
      Janet of course, was mindful about how I was supporting two other women (and a ton of kids). Her common sense prevailed over jealousy. My First easily made more money than I did since she could charge billable hours and overtime. Our combined income easily surpassed a quarter million a year (and more once my extra-curricular stuff got rolled in). Still, we were all pretty thankful none of us lost our jobs.
    
      Personally, I was doing okay. Before Faraz had died, I had consulted him about commmodities for industrial applications and he wasn't too sure (this was back in 2000 by the way).
    
      "Shit man!" Faraz had chided me, "I figured I'd ask you about that if it came up!"
    
      Unfortunately, he never got the chance. I didn't get the chance to tell him it was probably all bunk. Even as a kid, I never understood how a person's income could steadily rise to match the annual cost of living increase. Wouldn't prices have to go up as well to pay for the increased income?
    
      It all sounded like a bunch of baloney to me. Once I got some measure of control over my gifts, I began to understand how one succeeded -- by having command over something that others would pay for. Basically, it meant having a professional skill-set. That's one of the reasons why I chose to be an architect, draftsman, and a construction/materials manager; it was like a fallback if my gifts would suddenly disappear one day.
    
      The financial world though, was something I wasn't wholly familiar with -- I traded only in commodities and things I knew about. I steered clear of insurance policies and the other hokum espoused by the banks and financial wizards. I dealt with things that were tangible, or as tangible as they could be.
    
      As I mentioned earlier, I had started stock-piling precious metals and minerals. I did so after doing some research and surveying the manufacturing landscape of California. Silicon, lithium, gold, platinum, bauxite, and maganese (the last I had in small abundance due to the surface excavations from Red Rock) were all handy in various manufacturing processes from superconductors to batteries.
    
      With the technology boom steadily maturing, I figured this was safer than gambling on shaky stocks or government bonds. Governments could disappear or get over-thrown, but the ores in the ground would still be around for the taking. In any case, if I wasn't making a killing, I'd figure I melt the shit down and see if I could telekinetically mould it into jewelry for my lovelies.
    
      Thus, with all the buying I had been doing over the years (one could only launder so much with a chain of delicatessens, laundromats, and dry cleaners) that when the slump hit, I was sitting on several hundred-thousand of ounces of various metals and minerals when the slump hit. Since I bought slowly over the years (despite the steadily rising prices) I had quite a stock of non-liquid assets lying around.
    
      That, coupled with the stuff I swiped meant I had plenty of "wealth". Still, there was always more to be had. The U.S. Drug Enforcement Agency (DEA) had been having problems with La Familia in Mexico's Guadalajara province. I found the unofficial liasion Tseng was using and picked his brain clean. Using that information as a starting seed, I assembled a task force to rob La Familia.
    
      By now, I hadn't heard from Tseng for some time. The last time we had a face to face was Lunar New Year's earlier in the year. It had become an annual ritual for us; we'd occupy a table at a random teahouse or porridge restaurant and he'd ask how Viktoriya and Melanie were doing. I'd answer blandly, knowing I couldn't really keep much away from him. Tseng seemed content to hear what I had to say about those two, as if my word counted for much.
    
      In any case, without Tseng, I was more or less on my own. For my cover, I used a lecture about environmental design and materials re-use at the University of Mexico. It was one of those "fun" lectures that occurs near the end of a school year. There was obviously little value (apart from having a get together of academia), so I took off after grabbing the lecture's materials and I skipped out on the rest of it.
    
      I flew out in a small chartered plane and met Galen (Kari was back in England with their baby). The cartels had gotten much more sophisticated laundering their revenue (doing it more often with smaller sums) so the approach was a little different. Along with a new guy Darrell Carson, we slashed through a few outlying bases and collected our loot.
    
      I felt the corner of my mouth twitch at the thought of the new guy; I had nabbed him a few years ago when Rachelle and I were in Los Angeles visiting her friends and extended family. As soon as Darrell set eyes on my mocha-skinned beauty, I knew he was trouble. Of course, with Rachelle looking the way she did (Janet said she looked like Vanessa Williams while Melanie thought she resembled an older Beyonce), I couldn't blame him.
    
      It wouldn't take long for Darrell to try something stupid, so I confronted him as soon as I could be alone with him. The chat I gave him was less of a lecture and more of a threat; I fended off his feeble attempts to cow me and demonstrated what I'd do if he ever did a thing to Rachelle or the girls. The scar I gouged on the concrete sidewalk pretty much made my point.
    
      For a time, I considered killing Darrell, but (at the very last moment) decided not to. Legality aside, I wasn't sure if I could clean the mess up in time before Rachelle came back from her little cigarette break. At times, I wondered if Tseng had the same thought cross his mind when he confronted me. It was possible, although I hadn't done anything to him personally ...
    
      So, I kept the occasional tab on Darrell, dropping in on him unexpectedly when I felt the need. While he was only mildly gifted, Darrell had expertise in other areas -- like having the street connections I lacked. I slowly trained him in my spare time, and encouraged him to learn to control his powers on his own.
    
      After a few years, I brought Darrell into the fold of the empire. By now, Galen had gotten out of the drug trade (it was a pretty dangerous business) and I suggested to the new guy that he shouldn't bother starting.
    
      "We stick to the money and jewelry," I said, "Leave the ammunition and weapons. Lord knows there's enough of that shit in South Central already."
    
      "Agreed," the wiry black nodded quickly.
    
      Knowing that Darrell was just starting out, Galen and I took a substantially smaller portion of the share. Just enough to cover some living expenses -- and have enough left-over to live comfortably for a year. Darrell, having grown up in foster homes and YMCAs, hadn't seen that much money in his life.
    
      "Just don't be stupid spending it all in a year, or even ten years," I said coolly and finished with thought-speech: 'Or they'll catch you.'
    
      'And if someone does catch you.' Galen added gruffly, 'We'll catch you. And you won't like it.'
    
      The wiry black youth glanced at Galen and me fearfully before he gulped and nodded.
    
      "Save it up," I suggested. Darrell still hadn't gotten used to our way of conversing, so I spoke normally. "Study hard and get a job that says you earned this money. It's the best way to stay out of trouble anyway."
    
      "Uh, yeah." Darrell nodded quickly as he spoke, "I always wanted to go to college. Just never had the money."
    
      "Well you do now." Galen smoothed back his ruddy red hair. "Just be careful with it, eh lad?"
    
      "Yes. Do that," I chipped in, "And be clever about moving this stuff back home, unless you aim to sneak past the border like I do. You have nearly three million in cash and jewelry. Customs will be curious about you, so either you dress the part and look like you should be carrying that much bling, or you smuggle it."
    
      "I brought my passport," Darrell said, "I can play a rich guy."
    
      "And not just any rich guy," Galen spoke with his clipped African twang. "Say you're the son of some tycoon or got your windfall or won it gambling. Moving that much dough into a country like the U.S. or the U.K. will get you noticed, unless you really take pains to hide it."
    
      "Remember you can't fool machines," I reminded our initiate, "Just the operators. And if there's someone in a small room eyeballing you through a camera, you're in trouble, understand?"
    
      "I got it, I got it," Darrell nodded, "Man, y'all are paranoid."
    
      'With good reason.' Galen snapped back with thought-speak.
    
      The youngster flinched from the ferocity of the mental broadcast. I settled for a silent, grim look of disapproval and he understood the gravity of the issue.
    
      "Well just be careful," I stuck to normal speech. "Even if you have to lose half of it to taxes or what-not, you'll still have more money than any sensible man would ever need. Just don't bite off more than you can chew. There's always more for the taking."
    
      Darrell nodded soberly as Galen and I grabbed our smaller shares. On that, the three of us parted ways. We had gone to Puerto Vallarta after our excursion and booked passage to go back to the United States. Galen was going to fly back to England from LAX while Darrell would melt back into obscurity. With Galen looking over the rookie, I was free to do something else.
    
      My darlings and I were going to celebrate the end of 2008 with a bang. To prepare, Viktoriya flew back to New York to get her affairs into order before moving back to San Francisco. With all the stuff that happened recently, I felt my darlings needed a vacation. So, I booked some rooms at a five-star hotel in Waikiki.
    
      The plan was for me to fly to New York after my "lecture", help Viktoriya pack, and then we'd fly back, grab our vacation stuff, and head back out. The women already knew something was up as I had asked each of them to wrangle some time off from the 26th to the 3rd of next year.
    
      Basically, I wanted all of us to spend a week of "away time" right after Christmas in a land of sun and fun. It would be a relatively short stay anyway since Rachelle couldn't get too much time off and Janet had a heavy case-load once the new year started.
    
      Additionally, Jamie would be tied to her 24/7 IT helpdesk, and Shawn and I still had that project for Delancey Street to complete, in addition to the stuff she and I were doing on the side. Viktoriya got away by quitting the institute; my dusky Russkie hardly cared as she was looked after quite well by me.
    
      However, she did have to come back to continue teaching her private students. Only Melanie was carefree, though she spent her time getting the kids to and from school and handling house-chores.
    
      With that plan in mind, I took a private plane to Cozumel, an island off Mexico's Yucatan Peninsula. I managed to wheedle my way on board a liner headed back to New York City. It was cutting it close, but I needed to time it with the end of my "lecture trip". Besides, the leisurely cruise allowed me to play around with my telekinesis.
    
      I was on the stern deck, my collar turned up. The air gradually grew more chilly as the ship chugged northwards towards the Big Apple. I didn't mind the cold; I was just pleased I could be alone with my thoughts. With so much going on since the kidnapping, I was glad to be alone if just for a little while.
    
      After lunch, I stood on the observation deck and meditated until the sun set over the water. I focused on diverting the foam and waves churned by the ship's propeller to one side and then the other.
    
      While I exercised my gifts, I reflected on recent family developments -- all related to Viktoriya stirring up mischief before she headed back to New York. My dusky Russkie had grown bored once she was away from the hustle and bustle of the Big Apple and decided to have some fun at the expense of the other women.
    
      It started with a night's celebration. With Viktoriya back in town, my six lovely darlings decided to have a night out. I could understand why they wanted to do so -- Melanie hadn't been out much since Norman was born, and both the foiled kidnapping and Viktoriya's return were certainly cause for celebration.
    
      So, shortly after Halloween, my six lovelies planned for a girls' night out. Shawn's mother and I were to babysit the kids. Jillian was supposed to help too, but I forbade it; she was to prepare herself for her SATs (standardized aptitude tests) so Jamie and I could gauge if she needed more assistance. If Jillian did poorly on her SATs, there was no telling where she'd end up. Jamie and I were adamant that Jill maintain her high marks so she would have as many academic choices open to her as possible.
    
      Just thinking about Jillian brought to mind another issue -- since she had just started high school, I wondered if Jill should have her own unit (and not just a room at Jamie's place). I brought the issue to both women: Janet could let Jillian take her unit and my First would be at the house.
    
      Both Jamie and Janet were leery of the idea. In Jamie's case, I understood her reasoning, but I was surprised by my forward-thinking First. That was until Janet reminded me what she had been doing when she was around that age.
    
      "I was doing you, remember?" Janet said acidly, "I was lucky you weren't some psycho like my ex."
    
      "Lucky you." I nipped her ear.
    
      "I don't think it's a good idea, Stanley." Jamie ignored our by-play. "I'm already stressed out of my mind now she's taking notice of boys. She's been clacking away on web-chats until midnight, and here you want to _give_ her a condo to herself?"
    
      I nodded while she levelled a stern gaze at me, "Are you outta your mind? I think I'd die if I became a thirty-something grandma."
    
      "Well she's going to be on her own eventually, right?" I shrugged, "And I'm right across the hall to watch her."
    
      "Yeah, 'cause you're such a home-body," the leggy Asian mother said it in such a way that made Janet laugh. So that was the end of it, at least until Jillian was college-bound.
    
      So there I was, having just stepped out from my unit when I glimpsed the elevator stopping on my floor. The door opened and six sexy ladies dressed in a variety of short skirts (save one -- Shawn wore jeans), thin-strapped or slip-on high heels, and very little else stepped out and cheerfully waved at me.
    
      I nearly ran myself into a corner before I steadied myself and gawked while my six darlings stood line abreast at the end of the hallway. That was weird. The elevator went from the top floor all the way to the garage, so why were they stopping mid-way and taking the stairs the rest of the way?
    
      When I caught Janet's wild grin (and coupled Viktoriya's lewd thought-speech) I knew that something was going down. My eyes grew wide as I sensed what was going to happen. At a pre-arranged signal, five of my lovelies -- Viktoriya, Janet, Rachelle, Melanie, and Jamie -- hiked up their skirts and flashed me their lovely thighs while calling out luridly.
    
      Only Shawn (donning her pair of ripped jeans) couldn't do that. Instead, she lifted up her stretched top and exposed her big, bulging breasts.
    
      "Hullo Stanley!" My plump dumpling jiggled her massive boobage and winked.
    
      Thankfully, none of the kids wandered out onto the floor. My jaw hit the floor as the girls quickly composed themselves once more. My darlings blew me kisses and waved before they started downstairs, clamoring, "Bubbye Stanley!" "Love you sugar!" "Later lover-boy!" "Don't wait up!" "Catch me later, kisa!"
    
      I smiled sheepishly as my lovelies headed downstairs. Janet was the last in line and stopped at the landing. She glanced back at me and gave me a stupid smile. As I lightly sifted over her thoughts, my grin grew wider. Was that whole thing just now _her_ idea?
    
      Not exactly; no more than a second passed when Viktoriya popped back around the corner. When my Baltic beauty grinned saucily at me, I realized that all this may not have been wholly Janet's idea after all. My eyes bugged out when Viktoriya stuck her tongue right right down the mouth of my First. Both women made out for a few precious seconds while I ogled them like a brainless idiot.
    
      Once they were done, the two of them drew back breathless, their cheeks red. Both Janet and Viktoriya looked towards me with big smiles on their faces, blew me kisses, and disappeared down the stairwell.
    
      I could hear them laughing at my expression. This time, I couldn't contain myself. I headed back to my room and whacked off. Afterwards, I washed up, and headed downstairs to Mother Benton's unit to help with the kids.
    
      That night wasn't over -- not by a long shot. The next morning, I dropped by Viktoriya's unit to make sure the coast was clear. That Friday night was a little different. Since I didn't know when my lovelies would be back, the younger kids had a sleep-over while the older boys -- Michael and Milhail -- spent the night in my unit.
    
      I suspected Viktoriya would be up to her old shennanigans again when she thought-spoke to me the night before. No more than an hour had passed since my darlings flashed me in the hall when she broadcasted in a drunken delirium.
    
      My dusky Russkie's thoughts were slurred and hazy, but I made out what she was trying to get across. She was going to get the others blasted, then have her way with them.
    
      Through the dimness of the club, the flashing lights and booming music, I saw Jamie and Janet were grinding on the dance floor while Viktoriya was doing shots off Melanie, Rachelle, and Shawn in places where I didn't think liquid would pool on a woman's skin.
    
      As much fun as that may have been, I was ready to paddle Viktoriya silly if she did something foolish. I was partly vindicated when I visited her early the next morning.
    
      I found Shawn and Melanie asleep on the floor of the living room, a small makeshift table with liquor, lemons, and limes between them. Jamie was on the couch, while Rachelle and Janet were nowhere to be seen.
    
      Only Viktoriya was awake, and she was dressed in a simple white bathrobe and sipping a glass of hot tea in the kitchen.
    
      'Hallo kisa.' My Baltic brunette grinned at me mischievously.
    
      'Morning.' I pinged and gave her a quick kiss. 'Have fun?'
    
      'Yes, lyubimy.' Viktoriya batted her eyes innocently while my own narrowed.
    
      'I know that look.' I shot her a worried glance. 'What'd you do now?'
    
      'Nothing bad.' She sipped her brew while her dark eyes teased me. 'But I dare you to guess!'
    
      I surveyed the room and asked the obvious: 'Where are Janet and Rachelle?'
    
      Viktoriya's grin grew wider as she gestured towards her bedroom. She used her gift to open the door and my eyes bugged out at the sight. My First and my mocha-skinned mate were spooning nude under the covers.
    
      The Baltic brunette must've caught my disbelief because she quickly thought-spoke. She suppressed a giggle and wore a big grin as I tip-toed a bit closer to check on them.
    
      'They finally kissed and made up!'
    
      'I'll say.' I scowled darkly at her. 'How'd that happen?'
    
      She smiled coyly as she thought-spoke: 'Melanie and I kissed last night. She is so beautiful, Stanislav!'
    
      "Oh fer Chrissakes," I muttered aloud as her smile grew wider.
    
      Viktoriya had used Melanie to trigger a psychic event. My voice must've awoken both Janet and Rachelle, because the next thing I knew, the two of them were staring wide-eyed at each other. The cries of shock and surprise quickly erupted from their throats.
    
      "Oh my God!" Rachelle tried getting up and pulling the sheet around her, but it wasn't so easy. She and Janet were sharing the same bedcover.
    
      Thinking quickly, I grabbed an extra bathrobe hanging from the bedroom door and placed it gently beside them. Janet's face was beet-red as she gingerly took the robe.
    
      "Somehow, this wasn't what I envisioned when I asked you guys to get along."
    
      "Oh, shut up." Janet didn't meet my gaze as she tried getting dressed without exposing herself.
    
      "Hey, I'm not complaining." I kept on a straight face and squelched the laughter that threatened to bubble from my lips.
    
      "It's not what you think," Rachelle squeaked as she got up unsteadily.
    
      Viktoriya stood in the doorway with a sly smile. "Oh, actually --"
    
      I sensed Janet's and Rachelle's embarrassment and quickly rushed to hush my impetuous darling.
    
      "Okay Vika." I ushered Viktoriya outside. "Let's leave them be."
    
      'Phooey!' She thought-spoke as she pouted darkly at me. 'Last night was like a wet-dream "cum" true!'
    
      'I'll bet it was.' I pinged back and gently swatted her behind.
    
      I turned and gave Janet and Rachelle both a reassuring -- if goofy -- grin and closed the door before the others woke up and found them in that state. The two of them later made me promise never to speak of the incident again, and I agreed, if only begrudgingly. There was no reason for me to aggravate the situation.
    
      When Viktoriya wasn't having the time of her life with the other women, she was learning several new things. One was how to actually be a housewife. While she raised Milhail his first four years, dealing with children who could talk back was another thing.
    
      To help the kids connect with their Russian momma, we scheduled "homework check-up" and activities daily with Viktoriya. Having lived alone or with someone else picking up the slack (like Melanie) for so long, Viktoriya needed to familiarize herself with new responsibilities.
    
      It seemed to be working too. Milhail grew more comfortable around his birth-mother, and spent progressively more time at her place when it wasn't the site of an alcohol-fueled sapphic orgy.
    
      In fact, he spent so much time there that his brother Michael would sometimes stay over at Viktoriya's just so the two could play together. Janet was fine with it, since Frederick started becoming more of a handful and driving her nuts.
    
      The second thing my Slavic sweetie was trying to master was driving a car. Viktoriya's tutoring required her to learn how to drive, since cabs were scarce in the city and the public transportation a giant mess.
    
      Yes, it does sound ludicrous a thirty-something woman learning how to operate a motor vehicle, but it wasn't as weird as it sounds.
    
      Considering Viktoriya never needed a car whilst living in the Big Apple, or when she was younger and living with me, she never bothered to learn driving. So Viktoriya took some lessons under a licensed driving instructor but felt really there was nothing to it.
    
      She insisted that I sit in the car so she could practice more before she flew out. So, it was with some apprehension that I sat in my old Corolla next to her as she started the engine.
    
      'Now, you sure you were listening to that instructor right?' I thought-spoke as I buckled my seat-belt.
    
      'Yes, dorogoi.' Viktoriya gave me a sardonic grin as she broadcasted images of me dozing off in my old architectural history lectures. 'I am capable of staying awake during class Stanislav!'
    
      'Well okay.' I mimed a sign of the cross and thought-spoke. 'I'm ready.'
    
      "That is not funny, Stanislav," Viktoriya sniffed audibly and put the car in gear.
    
      She lurched out of the driveway and I yelled, "STOP!!". The two of us pitched forward (luckily restrained by our belts) as the car screeched to a sudden halt.
    
      Melanie's face registered shock and relief as she sat in Shawn's mini-van just inches away from my front bumper. Viktoriya's first jaunt nearly plowed us right into my youngest darling as she came back with our daughters and little Frederick.
    
      Thankfully, Yu-Ching was alert and was idling waiting for us to pull out. Melanie caught the look of terror on Viktoriya's face (and probably my own) and she timidly waved for us to go.
    
      Viktoriya nodded nervously and inched out of the driveway at a snail's pace. When she drove a few blocks away, she pulled aside, her hands trembling so much I had to calm her down.
    
      "Sorry about that." I rubbed her back.
    
      "I -- I can do this." Viktoriya swallowed and switched back to thought-speech: 'I can do this.'
    
      "Yes, you can." I gave her a grin of reassurance. "It's just like dancing right?"
    
      "Hardly! No one gets hurt if you miss a step and collide with another couple. At least not enough to end up at the emergency room!"
    
      "You just need more practice." I became thoughtful. "Hey, why don't we head down to that boba place in Millbrae?"
    
      "What? Where?" she asked.
    
      "Betsy's Bean Shop off El Camino." I broadcast a memory from our last visit. "Remember? Last Saturday with Milhail?"
    
      Viktoriya blinked. "You're going that far for one of your little Chinese drinks?"
    
      "Of course." I passed along a weak grin. "You're driving."
    
      My svelte siren made a face at me but she nodded. Between the city's streets and the light highway traffic on Veterans' Day, we made it down and back in time for dinner without further incident. Naturally, I paid for the gas and drinks.
    
      I was happy and things seemed to be going pretty well. Viktoriya though, seemed only to be smiling on the surface. Either she was distracted by something, or hadn't really practiced hiding all of her thoughts from me.
    
      Eventually, I got the distinct feeling she missed Freya's company. Despite the happiness of her current situation, she still had deep rooted feelings for her lithe Dutch lover.
    
      What was a man to do when his wife loved not only him, but another woman as well? Include her into the family? I laughed at the thought. If that were the case, I'd likely be paying out of my nose and ears to harbor Gracia (at Janet's request) and Rosalind (at my request).
    
      At the time, that could work. I toyed with the idea for a while as I shifted my concentration from the surface of the water to the bubbling froth near the propellers. As the rhythmic reverberations from the engine cascaded from the propeller shaft, I grew calmer and more relaxed.
    
      I wondered if I could take in Gracia because Janet wanted a "friendly companion" and broach the prospect of Freya for Viktoriya. I could even use the two as a pretext to include Rosalind. Of course, the others may not see it that way; Shawn, Jamie, Rachelle and Melanie probably wouldn't stand for it.
    
      At the thought of Little Chen, I found myself frowning. She'd likely be the most vocal about that this time. I got a feeling that she was used to being the baby of the family, and me spending time with someone younger than she earnestly irked her.
    
      Melanie seemed okay with the prospect of me screwing around, but I could feel her jealousy. Still, she was easier to deal with than Janet. So long as I kept Melanie happy when we spent our time together, she kept quiet about what I did on my own time.
    
      But my on-and-off relationship with Rosalind aside, Freya was perhaps the most vexxing problem. She had been Viktoriya's lover for quite some time and an important person in her life. How could I ask my Russian honey to break cleanly with one lover for the whim of another?
    
      Though I was troubled by Viktoriya's situation, her return had definitely made the past couple of months very enjoyable. It was as if I was falling in love not just with the Baltic beauty, but all of my darlings once more.
    
      The morning after the girls' night out (and after Janet and Rachelle had refreshed themselves with some dignity), the seven of us took the kids out to the beach to enjoy the rest of the unnaturally warm Autumn afternoon.
    
      I brought along a digital camera and happily photographed the kids as they frolicked on the promenade. Jillian and the two older boys rode scooters while Frederick, Jenny, Kady and the twin girls had to be content with their tyke bikes. Little Norman rode in the stroller Melanie and I took turns pushing.
    
      Before the sun had set, my six darlings found themselves all sitting on a bench near the sea wall.
    
      It was a humbling and awesome sight, for all of them had changed so much since I had first met them. Shawn was chatting amicably with Rachelle; just like it was years ago when the three of us were in school.
    
      My plump petunia had definitely shed some pounds whereas Rachelle had gained a little weight. Now the two of them were nearly equal in body proportions. Next to them, Janet was talking in low whispers with Viktoriya about --
    
      'Discipline. Again. Ugh.' Viktoriya smiled externally but mentally rolled her eyes. 'I can't staaaaaand this any more. Now I do want to take Milhail to New York.'
    
      'You're welcome to it.' I thought dourly. 'If you take me with you.'
    
      'In your dreams, dorogoi!' The Slavic vixen flashed me a giddy barb before she became serious. 'Janna's a real stickler isn't she?'
    
      'Yes, but it's for the good of the kids.' I pinged back. 'Take notes please, lyubimy.'
    
      'If you think it's best, milenky.' Viktoriya heaved a mental sigh.
    
      I smiled as I watched Janet's lustrous mane of black hair shimmer and shine as her eyes blazed with energy as she spoke. Viktoriya nodded along -- I had to mentally prick her a few times so she'd pay attention -- her long hair had been shortened significantly, being cropped just above her shoulders. When my dusky Russkie was competing in dancing competitions, she would use hair extensions to recreate the look she had over a decade ago.
    
      My littlest darling Melanie still had the longest natural hair of the bunch. Little Chen was busy rummaging through her baby bag -- Norman must've dirtied his diaper again -- while Jamie was standing by, alternately looking over her shoulder and watching the kids.
    
      I could see my Asian beauty's eyes dart here and there, oblivious to everything except the locations and activities of the kids. That damn kidnapping made everyone wary. Nonetheless, watching these six great ladies stirred a fierce pride deep within me.
    
      There women were _my_ women. My wives. Without even thinking, I brought up my camera, framed all of them, and snapped a quick picture. Despite being bright outside, the camera's flashbulb went off.
    
      That instantly alerted my darlings, and I couldn't take another shot without them noticing. There was a scowl here and there, but they were mostly surprised by the sudden attention. I sensed no malice or anger. In fact, as I stood there looking back at them, I sensed a collective feeling of mirth and appreciation.
    
      "Sorry." I gave them all my trademark grin then turned away to examine my prize shot. Of all the pictures I took that day, I made special effort to print and preserve that one photo. Don't get me wrong -- I loved the kids, but I cherished my darlings more.
    
      Back on the ship, I found myself mulling over Viktoriya's infatuation with Freya when I detected the faint presence of someone familiar. I turned my head towards their direction but saw nothing. Still, that didn't mean no one was there. I focused my concentration just a bit and I arched a brow. I knew who it was.
    
    ===============================================================================
      NATURE VERSUS NURTURE
    ===============================================================================
    
      The liner had an enclosed observation lounge to protect couples from the chill, so I thought I was alone on the open after-deck. Apparently, I was wrong. It wouldn't be the first time I was distracted when I was lost in thought.
    
      "Stop messing around Mirage," I said casually, "If someone sees you, you're going to be compromised."
    
      I spoke loud enough for her to hear (she was about three meters away) but low enough so only we could hear over the rustling wind. When Phillipa didn't reappear instantly, I made it a point to glance directly at where she was.
    
      "I know where you are," I rasped, "So stop screwing around."
    
      "You're such a cheater Snake Charmer," Phillipa Roget growled as she slipped back into view, "I was trying to be stealthy."
    
      Like many times before, one moment there was nothing, and the next there stood a pretty, skinny red-head. She looked like she was dressed for the beach. Phillipa was clad in a demure one-piece white swimsuit with a half-sarong covering her ass.
    
      She was standing exactly where I had guessed she'd be. Thankfully, the deck was devoid of people; that, coupled with the fact that the sky had grown quite dark, made it highly unlikely anyone saw us.
    
      "It's not cheating if you're using the stuff you're born with." I nodded at her. "What're you doing here?"
    
      Phillipa came up beside me in a huff, "On vacation without my Aunt Susan for once."
    
      "Oh really?" I studied her. "I thought you were studying at the University of New York. Graduation present?"
    
      "Kinda, yeah." The red-haired girl leaned lazily against the railing. "And you?"
    
      "Vacation."
    
      I relaxed as I realized our surroundings. That plus Phillipa wouldn't be able to read my thoughts. I guessed that was why I was missing Rosalind ever since Viktoriya came back to the city.
    
      With Viktoriya and Melanie in my proximity on a daily basis, the chance of them causing me no end of trouble was always present. With a 'normal' girl, I was able to let my guard down.
    
      Added was the fact that Rosalind required less time and effort, and I was quite content to use her tender body like a fuck-post. Speaking of tender bodies, I noticed my eyes had strayed down to Phillipa's crotch (along to other parts of her body).
    
      The white swimsuit she had on was either very form-fitting or a shade too small, because I easily made out the bumps that formed her cunt lips. As I gawked hungrily at her camel-toe, I felt my blood rush to my ears.
    
      "Dude!" Phillipa snapped her fingers. "Eyes up here!"
    
      "What? Sorry." I forced my gaze upwards and threw in a bland grin for good measure. "My mind was elsewhere."
    
      "I'll say." The red-head met my grin with her own. "Don't you get enough at home?"
    
      I regarded my co-worker carefully, and wondered what she may have heard. A quick, light scan and I knew not only Mirage and Masquerade had been chatting during operations, but perhaps more annoying was that they were chatting about _me_.
    
      Goddamn women and their goddamn gossip, I thought dourly. They couldn't even stop at work. And this wasn't just any work, it was a touch away from being government wet-work.
    
      Although neither woman had been required to commit violence during an operation, I knew Bethany and Phillipa were trained to kill as a precaution. I decided to go with the honest route.
    
      "What have you heard?" I asked.
    
      "Lots of things." Phillipa smiled thinly and tapped her forehead. "But I bet you already know what."
    
      "Not always." I sought to change the subject. "Look, it's getting late. I'm heading back in."
    
      "Already? You don't sound happy to see me. What're you doing out here all alone?"
    
      "Architectural lecture," I started, and just as quickly stopped. I realized I didn't need to lie to Phillipa (or not that much).
    
      "Sounds like fun." The red-head's eyes sparkled with mischief. "So, wanna get me in trouble, handsome?"
    
      "No." I arched a brow, "And what kind of question is that?"
    
      "Well, you'd better escort me back then." She made a loop with her arm. "Remember all those people who vanished on cruise ships?"
    
      "Yeah sure." I smiled acidly, remembering how one of my first unauthorized jobs was retrieving kidnapped American nationals kidnapped abroad. I never worked cruise ship disappearances, but I had a feeling I wouldn't find the bodies from those incidents. The ocean was a big place to scour for psychic emanations, even for me.
    
      "Didn't you come with friends?" I asked.
    
      "No, just me." Phillipa shrugged politely. "Between 'work' and school, I didn't have that much time for much else."
    
      "Not even for friends?" I gave her a curious look. "That's odd."
    
      "It's complicated," she said.
    
      I sensed she didn't want to talk about it, but I left my mind and my ears open. Phillipa and I headed back into the liner, where the lean red-head managed to weasel a dinner out of me. I suppose I was setting myself up for it, since I was open to the possibility -- and I might've put the suggestion in her head.
    
      Phillipa came down to the restaurant in a casual white sleeveless (and backless) blouse and pants, while I stuck to my dark slacks and shoes. I wore a white shirt and rolled up sleeves.
    
      We made light conversation over traditional Mexican fare: some chicken, rice, and steamed vegetables for me while Phillipa dined on carne asada.
    
      "Yub, yub, thanks for the grub." Phillipa grinned as we ordered some after-dinner drinks.
    
      I grinned back, but only because a piece of black bean had stuck around, making her appear to be missing some teeth.
    
      "You got something stuck here." I pointed at myself, miming as her reflection.
    
      "Damn." Phillipa frowned as she wiped the stain with her napkin. "And here I was thinking I was all charming."
    
      "You could be, if you weren't so transparent all the time."
    
      She stuck her tongue out at me, but the mood remained cheerful. I sipped my canned soda carefully; I had stuck to that or sweet teas all the while.
    
      Mexico's water was horrible and I didn't wholly trust bottled water, not after I learned how to inject toxins using a hypodermic; done at the bottle's neck, the hole was near impossible to spot. Agency spooks could inject something into a bottle then have an unknowing waiter serve it up, and I'd be none the wiser.
    
      All that sugar was really getting to me though. I felt jittery and hyper ever since the conclusion of the La Familia "task". I wasn't really thinking straight, although I was still cautious. I re-pinged the room and gradually extended my awareness over the entire ship.
    
      Of the several hundred or so passengers, I sensed they were all fairly 'normal' and mundane. Nothing weird except for the two agency talents -- me and Phillipa -- at the ship's bar and grill.
    
      If I was hyper-paranoid about something, it was with Phillipa not being watched or followed by the agency. I had assumed that Cox or his bosses would want to keep tabs on her. Then I remembered the GPS tracker the agency had injected her with years ago. Doubtless the agency was using that transmitter. They didn't need to send agents on a cruise liner to shadow her.
    
      That business with the transmitter was another reason why I was so paranoid around the NSA. I absolutely refused medical treatment while under agency auspices; I chose my doctor after carefully scanning him (as I did for all my other specialists) and accepted no injections. When I accompanied my kids and wives to their doctors, I did the same to them -- sometimes even dropping by their offices afterwards to do my thing.
    
      If I had the slightest trace of suspicion, I declined the doctor's services or I would probe him a bit more to find out more. The agency never did try anything like that against me (so far); I suppose they weren't willing to try, or didn't find it necessary.
    
      Nevertheless, I kept my guard up as I watched Phillipa sip her after-dinner Manhattan through a straw. Watching her suck daintily on that thin tube, I realized I was interested in fucking her, and I didn't have any qualms about it.
    
      Well that's just dandy. Not only was I copacetic with screwing around on my wives, but I was going to do it with an agency asset. That should give the NSA one more reason to move against me.
    
      My pulse quickened a bit as I looked over Phillipa's body and basked in her loveliness. Her ivory white skin was marred only by a light sprinkling of freckles on her nose and cheeks.
    
      Having grown up since the agency nabbed her in upstate New York, the girl had turned out to be quite a lovely young woman. Her red hair was a bright copper color and held back by a white hair-band. I could see her temples pulsate as she swallowed.
    
      "Stanley? Dude!" Phillipa looked up to see me ogling her. "Are you mentally undressing me?"
    
      "Is that a crime?" I blurted before I could stop myself.
    
      "No, I guess not." She grinned at me, her teeth now pearly white. "So, how're things back home?"
    
      "Can't complain." I returned her grin. "And you? How's your aunt?"
    
      "She's fine, I guess." Phillipa fiddled with her drink. "I think Uncle Stephen is going to ask her to marry him."
    
      "Who the hell is Uncle Stephen?"
    
      "Aunt Susan's boyfriend." She threw me a tepid grin. "Oh right, you never met him have you?"
    
      Reading her mind, I saw Tseng's face as he and her Aunt Susan attended Phillipa's high school graduation. That in itself didn't throw me into a panic, but the fact that Tseng had a first name did. I had known my mentor for well over a decade and at no point did he make it known he went by any other name apart from "Tseng".
    
      I cooled visibly as I put two and two together and realized why Tseng hadn't been around much. Phillipa confessed that "Uncle Stephen" had dropped by to see her "Aunt" Susan more and more as the years passed.
    
      I wondered what the hell he was up to now. Was he establishing himself in a 'normal' setting?
    
      Heck, I didn't think of Tseng as being 'normal' in any sense of the word. I only had limited contact with him and always viewed him with a healthy mix of fear, awe, and caution. The simple fact he was now "settling" with a normal woman like Phillipa's so-called aunt was an astonishing turn of events.
    
      "I wouldn't know," I lied impassively, "I remember just you and your aunt when I last visited."
    
      "Yeah, I figured as much." Phillipa sounded disappointed. "He's a real tight-ass all the time. Can't figure out how my aunt puts up with him."
    
      Maybe because he's adept at fucking her brains out and using you to further his own agenda was my thought, but I put forth a more positive response.
    
      "You'd be surprised what people put with out of love."
    
      "I guess so."
    
      Phillipa played with her straw a bit before she resumed her sipping. The two of us finished our drinks then tried some mojitos (what? I don't think it's a gay drink ... shlurrrp). I normally didn't imbibe alcohol, but I did so on a dare. Phillpa dared me to try something just to prove that I wasn't the stuck-up rigid asshole like her "uncle".
    
      I gleaned this and a bit more while I rummaged carefully through her mind. Apparently Phillipa wasn't who "she" appeared to be. As alcohol slowly took over both of us, I sensed Phillipa's deeper anxieties come to the surface. I sensed that the beautiful woman before me was supposed to be born a man. That certainly gave me pause.
    
      As the lovely red-head chattered away, I slashed through my stupor and sorted through the thoughts I was getting from the increasingly drunk Phillipa. It hadn't come up when she at the orphanage (she was too young to have shown any abnormality) and of course, her Uncle Pauly wasn't really aware something was wrong.
    
      After the agency had snatched her in early 2000, she had been examined by a gynecologist, and the findings were added to her dossier. Phillipa Roget should've been "Phillip" Roget. She suffered from a physical disorder known as androgyn insensitivity syndrome (AIS).
    
      In the lanky red-head's case, she had complete AIS (or CAIS) where her body very nearly rejects processing androgyn, a hormone that assists in determining a person's sexual phenotype. Basically, Phillipa was genetically a guy, but looked -- from nearly all other respects -- like a totally hot fuckin' girl.
    
      I was mildly in shock as I sat listening to Phillipa giggle, hiccup, and burp like a sweet, young thing. She knew what she was (a medical fact that was delivered to her and her aunt by a non-agency doctor) and took it in good stride. Her "aunt" Susan seemed shocked at first, but something told me Susan probably knew her "niece" was something special.
    
      My mind went back to the reports from Sherwood, and slowly pieced things together. From her grand-uncle's novels, I'd known that the Roget family curse of invisibility passed from uncle to nephew. With this new medical tidbit about Phillipa, I finally understood why Tseng had so much interest in Mirage.
    
      And my mentor probably knew from the start, I thought darkly. Which led me to another line of thought: Were our gifts inherent in our genetic make-up? If so, why wasn't my brother Andrew or Yu-Ching's brother Anthony gifted? More importantly, would my kids have such talent?
    
      Viktoriya and I had worried over Milhail, but the boy didn't seem to be anything "special" -- or at least not yet. I remembered when I was dimly aware of my powers in grade school; perhaps Milhail was a late bloomer. Or perhaps all my kids were talents.
    
      Fuck me. The fear I had in the back of my mind for years suddenly became more concrete. Was this why the agency was turning a blind eye to me and my polygamous business?
    
      Were they allowing me to create a small unit of "talented" individuals, then snatch them? A chill slid down my spine as I drafted countless plans what the NSA may have had for me and my family.
    
      "Hey! You listening to me?" Phillipa's sharp whine interrupted my thoughts.
    
      "Sorry." I mumbled and grinned sheepishly. "Was thinking about something else again."
    
      "Really?!" Her jaw nearly dropped. "Dude, you're a pervert."
    
      "What?" I blinked and quickly scanned her mind.
    
      Oops, I thought. Phillipa had been chatting away, oblivious to my vacant stare. We had been drinking and carousing there for so long, the place was slowly being transformed into a dance club as the hours went by.
    
      "Feliz navedad" (basically Christmas in Mexico) was coming and the place was decked for it. Phillipa had asked if I would be interested in dancing. Of course, it didn't help that I had locked my gaze blindly on her chest when I mentally checked out.
    
      "Sorry." I chuckled. "But you do look very pretty."
    
      "I do, don't I?"
    
      It wasn't even a rhetorical question as Phillipa smiled and threw her rusty red locks over her bare shoulder. I found myself grinning widely in her company.
    
      "Show off."
    
      She grinned back, the two of us in the know about her antics. After the anthrax and ricin trace operations, Mirage had been doing some snatch jobs and surveillance with the agency. Phillipa was able to hide a compact, hi-res, low-light digital camera on her person, and enter premises and facilities guarded by 'normal' security.
    
      All she did was take pictures and she had gotten quite good at it. Phillipa was even able to operate the camera while invisible, so she was quite a handy with a lens.
    
      After one particularly boring debriefing, Phillipa decided to literally "show off". She followed Cox around and snapped a picture of him while he was taking a dump. Masquerade and Ghost Light thought the xerox copies were hilarious, although I was sure that was simply showing the agency higher-ups the dangers of Mirage's abilities.
    
      I was right: within 48 hours, more advanced sensors were installed at agency headquarters. It was as if the agency's command echelon were already too aware of what we were able to do.
    
      Adams' immaturity I could forgive; she was about Shawn's age, and my plump rumped petunia sometimes did some things like she was still a girl half her age, like using these giant Hello Kitty infested e-mail signatures when she'd correspond with me about project work orders. Naturally, these'd get forwarded down the line.
    
      Some construction managers thought the emails were coming from Gracia (she's Japanese, so yeah, why not) and it'd surprise the heck out of them that a 30 year-old, big-breasted white woman would cheerily acknowledge, "Oh, that's from my email!"
    
      Both Bethany and Shawn had similar backgrounds (minus the Horten's sordid family business): both were raised by a pair of traditional white mom and dad in a middle-class America.
    
      Reese on the otherhand, was a total loner, and a borderline domestic abuse case just waiting to happen. The only thing that kept him from crossing the line were Millie and his mother's murder by a Hezzbollah terrorist named Matar. With Millie, I knew his relationship was becoming strained. She was getting on in years, and wanted children, but he was afraid he'd turn out to be as abusive as his father.
    
      When David displaced me to Guantanamo in late '07 or early '08, he mentioned off-hand he and Millie had bumped into Viktoriya when she and Freya were in Manhattan. It was there the Reeses found out my Russian bride and I had a son. Soon, I got the sense from David that Millie really put up the pressure, and it was starting to drive him away. In doing so, the bore started talking to me.
    
      If that wasn't enough for me to dislike him, I soon found another reason to hate David's guts. When we started working together, I peeked into his mind when I could and knew Ghost Light had foiled (or tried to foil) some more plane and ship hijackings. Over the years, I pieced together that Reese and his overt tactics had, in part, lead to the 2001 WTC attack.
    
      When further hijackings failed, someone in the insurgent network put forth a plan to simply plow the damn plane into a target, and damn the consequences. So, in a way, David unknowingly instigated some events that killed Aurora. I wondered how long the agency had taken to figure this out, or worse, realized it but said nothing.
    
      My insides churned as a new thought came to me. Tseng might have badly misjudged the agency's potential, or he had surrendered me to be a decoy to throw them off the invisible empire. Was Tseng compromised? Or was it blackmail? And if Tseng had misjudged the agency, then what? What was his next step? I wondered what would be in store for me down the road.
    
      If the agency was tracking me, then all the other empire citizens I was doing "odd jobs" with were all being compromised (from Feodor to the most innocuous empath). I felt uneasy as I sipped my drink, and wondered what to do. My red-headed dinner companion though, drew me away from my thoughts with a simple question.
    
      "So? You wanna dance?"
    
      "Who? Me?" Even I thought I sounded surprised.
    
      "Of course you." Phillipa's sky blue eyes sparkled with mischief. "Who else?"
    
      "Sure." I came off a bit more enthused than I wanted and she quickly got into the swing of things.
    
      Man, I thought ruefully. I'd fuck anything that even remotely looked like a woman. I made a note never to go back to Thailand again. Thankfully, Red Rock's previous owner lived and worked fairly far inland; I think I probably would've spent way too much time in the katoey bars (like my old co-worker Franky).
    
      Still, what the hell. While I sensed Phillipa's anxiety, I also knew how she thought -- mentally, she was a woman. Growing up, Phillipa always thought she was a girl not simply because she was treated as one, but because she _felt_ like a woman, even though she genetically wasn't. I mulled over the weird situation as I took Phillipa's hand and led her to the dance floor.
    
    ===============================================================================
      INTERLUDE -- BALLS OF STEEL
    ===============================================================================
    
      Allow me to segue just a bit, and let me reveal just a bit more about one of my wives. Melanie was very sexually uninhibited when she was young. As she grew up, she learned more and more about sex (and having it) not just from me, but from her "Janet jie-jie" and experimenting with stuff she found on the internet.
    
      Yu-Ching was copacetic with orgies and three-ways with the other girls, as long as she got her share of attention from yours truly. When I maintained that Melanie was a pervert, with Janet and Viktoriya essentially for second-place, I meant it. I learned how far Melanie was willing to take things soon after Viktoriya came back.
    
      It was late evening when I dropped by her place. Rachelle, Jamie, Janet, Shawn, and I had just come back from my parents' place. It was an early holiday dinner, with the actual Christmas dinner scheduled to be at Janet's house for a change.
    
      My First was both unbelievably excited and stressed out due to the fact her parents would finally meet the other wives nearly eight years after "marrying" me. She was definitely glad that we'd be in Hawaii the next day.
    
      That night, Melanie had work at the Cliff House, and Viktoriya had some last minute "dance lessons" for a rich couple (they were invited to attend the new president's inaugural in February next year, in 2009). So, those two lunk-heads weren't in attendance, and it was completely understandable.
    
      My mother had made a special broth for my youngest darling; it wasn't favoritism as much as it was practicality -- Shawn, Viktoriya and Rachelle didn't care for traditional Cantonese cooking (although everyone approved of Melanie's Asian fusion dishes).
    
      Jamie and Janet hadn't had children lately, but Melanie had Norman just last year. Additionally, the kidnapping left a nasty scrape on Little Chen's head. Thus, my mom brewed some yun-xum tong* [* Cantonese: Mandrake broth or stew] for Melanie.
    
      I brought the pot of soup to her place, along with Norman. Milhail and Michael were in my unit, probably making a mess of my home PC with their obnoxious Spore penis creatures, and pushing their luck until I got back to take them to Viktoriya's.
    
      I knocked on Melanie's door and waited patiently for an answer. No one came to the door. In fact, I waited so long, Shawn came out with a bag of recyclables and wondered why I was still up and about.
    
      "She isn't back, or she isn't home?" Shawn became pensive.
    
      "No. Just no answer." I struggled under Norman's growing weight and the pot of stew. Shawn held out her arms and I gladly handed the boy to her.
    
      "Did you call her, Stanley?" she asked as the toddler stirred and began whining.
    
      "No, not yet." I began to grow uneasy and fiddled with my phone. "I'll check."
    
      Despite the performance I was putting on for the benefit of my pretty and plump wife, I retained enough focus for my precious Melanie. I pinged automatically and felt that she seemed to be fine, although I didn't know exactly where she was. Her presence was so dim and unobtrusive, it was often hard for me to sense Little Chen at all.
    
      "Hey." Shawn tapped my arm. "I'll put Norman up at my place tonight, okay? You find Mel and get some sleep."
    
      "Will do. Thanks pumpkin." I gave her a warm kiss.
    
      "Good night, Stanley." The doughty woman headed back to her condo.
    
      Once she was out of sight, I cracked the lock with telekinesis and headed into Melanie's unit. Sure enough, it was empty. I put the pot of soup into the refrigerator and left a note for Yu-Ching before I headed back out. I started downstairs and stopped. I thought I had felt something -- almost like a pip -- from Melanie.
    
      Weird. It came from Viktoriya's unit. Was Yu-Ching there? I headed to Viktoriya's door and knocked. Instantly, I heard a soft shuffle of feet and my dusky Russkie's thought-speech popped into my mind.
    
      'Stanislav! You're home?!' Viktoriya greeted me while she was staring at the front-door from across the room. I could make out the light at the bottom of the door and my shadow from her mind-sight.
    
      'Yes, everyone is.' I thought-spoke: 'Didn't you hear us?'
    
      'No. I was a little distracted.' From her mind-sight, I could tell Viktoriya hadn't budged since we started chatting.
    
      'Vika.' I pinged her lightly. 'Is Melanie in there with you?'
    
      'Yes.' Viktoriya replied and I instantly felt her nervousness.
    
      'Hey, whatever you're doing, I promise I won't get mad.' I rubbed my temples to calm myself.
    
      'All right, lover.' She pinged back. As Viktoriya kept her eyes on the front door, I suspected I knew why and she broadcasted a weak reply: 'It's just that Melanie doesn't want you to know.'
    
      'I think it's a little late for that.' I decided enough was enough, and ended the charade by knocking on Viktoriya's door.
    
      "Vika?" I knocked softly on the door again and called out audibly, "Are you in? Have you seen Melanie?"
    
      There was a moment or two of awkward silence as Viktoriya seemed to gesture just at the edge of her vision. I sensed her nodding her head and Melanie soon whisked into Viktoriya's view. Little Chen was dressed in a white cotton robe, her feet bare. I didn't need to be a psychic to know what these two were doing all night. I blinked my eyes to adjust to the darkness when the door creaked open.
    
      "Stanley?" Melanie squeaked softly.
    
      "Hello sweetie." I grinned at her. "May I come in?"
    
      Yu-Ching nodded shyly and stepped aside. My Slavic beauty was wearing only a loose t-shirt and a pair of Lady Hanes. She was sitting rather demurely -- if awkwardly -- on the hardwood floor with a towel under her sweet, smooth ass.
    
      Seeing the cushions, bottles of lubricant, and a small pile of towels (with something obviously hidden underneath), I stared accusingly at both women. Melanie immediately caught my look and leapt to her own defence.
    
      "It's not like that!" she exclaimed.
    
      "Tell me about it then." I looked between the two.
    
      I stayed and managed to wrestle the story from them. As it turned out, Melanie and Viktoriya were both having quite a time by themselves. My youngest darling had bought some hay-kun* [* Cantonese: Art of the empty fist, or qi-gong] balls some time ago. They were made of brushed metal and were supposed to be rolled in the palm of one's hand for exercise.
    
      However, Melanie had found another use for ben-wa balls. After putting the baby to bed one day, she got bored and decided to find some objects she could masturbate with. With a little trial and error, Melanie learned that she could lube up the balls and insert them into her vaginal cavity. She found that when she walked with those metal spheres inside her, she could barely keep herself under control.
    
      Aside from those metal spheres, Melanie also tried golf balls (the golf course at Lincoln Park sold PGA-rated ones with right amount of dimples), hundred-sided dice (they were about the size of a golf ball and I had outgrown Dungeons & Dragons), and even some decorative porcelain eggs sold in knick-knack and oddity stores (don't ask; though, I think those were left-overs from one of Rachelle's shopping forays).
    
      Yu-Ching even tried the vibrating eggs being sold in sex shops (those were made of polymer and latex, so while they were soft and pliant, they didn't retain body heat), but nothing seemed to have the same feel as those metal ben-wa balls.
    
      Little Chen -- now just a big pervert -- had finished with work early. She came home and found Viktoriya had come back early as well; Vika's clients had gotten winded and decided they had enough dancing for the night. The two women had a sit-down dinner together, Viktoriya broke out the alcohol, and one thing quickly led to another.
    
      Initially suspicious, Viktoriya tried Melanie's technique anyway, and it simply floored the older woman. Viktoriya could barely walk (let alone crawl) when she heard me knock on the door. While my Russian bride could diddle herself with telekinesis, it was still under her control. There wasn't much surprise left for her to do it that way.
    
      However, Melanie's metal spheres were quite a novelty. And unlike telekinesis, there was more than a "pressure" factor; the metal surface warmed to the touch and the heat they retained made them quite a unique experience.
    
      So, I grabbed a glass of chilled water, sat back, and watched as Viktoriya and Melanie both joyously jerked themselves the rest of the night. Finally, at one point during their festivities, I was forced to participate.
    
      Each of the girls had a pair of those exercise spheres (Melanie had several sets; I suspected they were either replacements or they were "presents" for the other women). I held one of the balls after Viktoriya squeezed it out of herself. It was hot to the touch (having been brought up to her internal body temperature).
    
      Smiling brazenly, I rolled it over her stomach and the Slavic brunette cursed pleasurably in her native tongue. I hadn't heard Viktoriya swear in Russian since the marriage four years ago.
    
      Hearing her so excited was infectious. I rolled the ball towards Viktoriya's manicured snatch and slipped it back inside with a little trouble while I teased her asshole with my other hand. The Slavic brunette didn't say a damn thing -- she only hissed loudly and threw herself at me, furiously biting, kissing, and licking my face and lips.
    
      Melanie, twirling around the condo's stripper pole, was gyrating herself silly to get off. Seeing us make-out on the sofa, Yu-Ching tried joining in and collapsed to the floor when she tried to walk.
    
      "D--don't start without -- me," Melanie begged as she wobbled towards us, shuddering and shivering as the twin balls jostled inside her vaginal cavity.
    
      I hadn't cleaned up, so I wasn't in an amorous mood. Instead, I was content to lie with both my darlings and, with a little telekinetic boost from Viktoriya, slowly nudged the balls inside both my lovelies. As I had my palms over their stomachs (this to free their hands to stroke their own clits), it appeared that I was massaging them and moving the balls around.
    
      Viktoriya knew this wasn't the case, but we still didn't want Melanie to know about our telekinesis. On top of all that physical contact, there was the simple stacking of our psychic power -- Viktoriya, me, and Melanie were creating one hell of an event.
    
      Almost too late, I feared that the kids in the building might be affected (they were, but only by going into an excitable state) but as quickly as that thought popped into my head, I squashed it, afraid that either of my lovelies would pick it up.
    
      In any case, the two women were soon swooning and blindly shooting their sex scuzz all over. What wasn't soaked up by my slacks dripped onto the floor and formed a small puddle. For a moment, I even wondered if I needed a mop because the two women were gushing like crazy. My lovely Melanie experienced such a rush, she even blacked out.
    
      As her eyes closed, Yu-Ching murmured an apology, and said she'd pick up Norman in the morning. With that, my youngest darling drifted off, her two metal spheres lying next to her sleeping form.
    
      'I'll take care of her tonight kisa.' Viktoriya thought-spoke as she kissed my face and neck. 'I'll see Milhail tomorrow.'
    
      'All right.' I relented while I cupped her meaty, muscular ass. 'Norman is at Shawn's tonight; tell Melanie for me would you?'
    
      Viktoriya clutched me tightly as the two spheres inside her began to move. 'Of course, Stanislav! Yes!'
    
      'Is that in regards to the kids or you just jerking off, sweetheart?' I mentally scolded her and began to lead her in a slow rumba.
    
      'Oh my God, kisa! Don't. Please don't!' Viktoriya pleaded with me, her eyes wide. 'I can't do that with these things in me! I just can't!!'
    
      'Wanna bet?' My mouth twitched mischievously.
    
      My beautiful Baltic brunette swooned as she instinctively swayed her hips. That was apparently the crux of Melanie's technique. When a woman walked, she sashayed her hips, and her vaginal cavity would shake like a high-rise building in an earthquake.
    
      Unlike a rectilinear skyscraper though, the vaginal cavity was more like a slinky that one held an end of and twirled like a mobile. This of course, meant that small, round objects the size of a ping-pong ball would roll around inside the cylinder -- and make women go ga-ga.
    
      Viktoriya and I took no more than a dozen steps when her legs buckled from the activity. I gripped her tightly as she trembled and fell into my arms. She was cumming like never before, and she fought the urge to scream by biting my sides.
    
      My Cossack cutie clamped down so fiercely that she ripped my shirt open with her teeth. Feeling her hot breath searing against my skin, I was getting pretty damn hard myself. After a few more seconds, she caught her breath and was herself once more.
    
      'Was it as good for you as it was for me?' I laughed audibly but pinged her in our silent tongue.
    
      'Fuck you, Stanislav!' Viktoriya scowled darkly at me.
    
      'Not a bad idea.' I wore a sneer. 'I'm hard.'
    
      She snatched me quickly by my hair and pushed me down to the floor. It wasn't anything rough, but she was irked I had perverted her sport into an unrelated intimate act. My dusky Russkie squatted over my chin, her face a mask of sheer concentration. I gazed at her snatch and saw that it was starting to part. When I saw the silvery sheen of the first metal exercise ball peek out from the folds of her labia, I grinned like a madman.
    
      You nasty bitch, I thought.
    
      'Call me more names, kisa.' Viktoriya thought-spoke instantly. 'And I'll give you what they call a Cleveland Steamer!'
    
      'Why not.' I dared her. 'You tore my shirt already. I'm throwing it out.'
    
      Viktoriya nearly stumbled, as she had not expected that answer.
    
      'I was only joking!' She looked at me in total shock. 'Are you serious?!'
    
      'I hope not, lyubimy.' I stroked her calves. 'Because it'll just be another mess for you to clean up.'
    
      'Selfish bastard!'
    
      'Whatever.' I managed to plant a kiss on the insides of her thigh as I pinged a response: 'But I do want to taste you.'
    
      Viktoriya gasped as my tongue teased the folds of her twat and asshole. I ran my tip of my tongue around the edges of the ball, testing and teasing my Slavic siren until she popped the sphere out. Luckily, Melanie was asleep and I was able to use telekinesis, otherwise the ball would've knocked out my front teeth.
    
      I plucked the ball out of mid-air with a solid telekinetic grip before I physically secured it with my fingers. Like before, the sphere was hot to the touch. Having been inside Viktoriya nearly all night, it was also heavily scented.
    
      I rolled it down my cheek, across my lips and under my nose, savoring her strong, sweaty, fuck musk. Her pussy still dribbled joy juice, and drops of the stuff splashed warmly against my face.
    
      'Here ... comes the other ... one.' Viktoriya was straining again.
    
      'Just ... just a second.' I was getting dizzy with lust.
    
      I picked up Viktoriya and carried her to the bed. She barely had time to protest before I took my hard cock out and slipped smoothly into her. She was so slick, there was barely any resistance. Viktoriya inhaled sharply -- then just as quickly sneezed.
    
      I chuckled as she sought to avert her gaze, if only briefly, before we kissed. She gasped when I began moving, then ultimately cried out when she came again. Moments later, the second ball popped out from her body, completely slick with both our juices.
    
      'Good ... night ... milenky.' Viktoriya was snug under the covers as I slipped out of her room.
    
      'G'night Vika.' I gently placed a spare wool blanket over the sleeping Melanie and tucked her in as well. I let myself out and headed back upstairs to my unit.
    
      "Where've you been?" Janet greeted me unhappily when I opened my door. "And what happened to your shirt?"
    
      "Hey baby." I grinned sheepishly. "What're you doing here?"
    
      "Getting shafted apparently," my First retorted as she studied the irrepairable rip, "Weren't you supposed to take those two kids to Viktoriya's so we could have some free time today?"
    
      "Today?" I looked at her quizically then glanced at the wall clock. "Damn, it's past midnight already?"
    
      "Well apparently! I guess times flies when you're --" Janet wrinkled her nose as the stench of lovemaking reached her nostrils. "Oh sweet cripes, Stanley!"
    
      "Sorry." I sped off to the restroom to get changed. "It was --"
    
      "You don't have to go into the details," she said and gave me a disapproving look.
    
      "So how'd you know?" I asked as I dumped my soiled clothes into the hamper. Despite the fact the shirt would no longer be worn, I was going to wash it; I planned to recycle it as a rag.
    
      "After I tucked in Freddy, I saw your lights were on." Janet lowered the lid on the toilet and sat on it while we talked. "When I saw Milhail and Michael in the window. I knew you obviously weren't home."
    
      "Sorry," I replied over the showerhead's hiss, "Yu-Ching wasn't at her place, so I got worried. I found her at Vika's."
    
      "I'm sure she had an explanation." She tilted her head and became thoughtful. "Scratch that. They both did, didn't they? So, what's got my man so excited?"
    
      "Balls." I turned off the shower and told her about Melanie's sex spheres while I towelled dry.
    
      Janet suddenly had this dreamy look on her face. "Oh wow."
    
      "What is it?" I asked, "Something wrong?"
    
      "No. No, nothing's wrong." She grew thoughtful. "Oh jeez. I was so busy at the firm, I didn't even get it."
    
      "Get what?" I pressed as I bundled myself up in a bathrobe.
    
      Janet smiled sweetly and took my hand. "C'mere and I'll show you."
    
      She took me across the hall to her room. My First generally split her time between her unit in the big building and her own house next door, coming and going as she pleased. She'd entertain guests at her house, but when things got too hectic, or she just wanted some quiet, Janet would bundle the kids up, and head to her cozy condo across the hall from mine.
    
      My wife dug out a small box containing two exercise balls. They were exactly the same type as the ones Viktoriya and Melanie were masturbating with earlier.
    
      "She gave me these for my birthday," Janet confessed.
    
      "When was this?" I asked, "I thought you got you that hundred dollar a pound tea you were raving about."
    
      "No, it wasn't this year," she said and shook her head, "This was before she had the baby."
    
      "That long ago?" I whistled. "Wow. Holy crap."
    
      "I never really had need for 'em." Janet took one of the balls out and examined it. "I do my hay-kun naturally; this stuff is for tourists anyway."
    
      I chuckled. "Leave it to Yu-Ching to find a new use for them."
    
      "She's always been inventive. So, you want to show me how they work?"
    
      I arched a brow as I saw she was studying me.
    
      "Isn't it a little late?" I asked.
    
      "Not for me it isn't." Janet stood and gave me a saucy smile. "I took tomorrow off."
    
      I chuckled and gave in to my lovely First's wanton wiles. It was rare that I could teach her a few things and I found I relished doing it -- then doing her. After a little lubrication and letting her experiment a bit, Janet was writhing with pleasure in my arms. Of course, not even that prepared me adequately for the weirdness that was Phillipa Roget.
    
    ===============================================================================
      SECOND-TYPE WOMAN
    ===============================================================================
    
      Phillipa giggled and leaned drunkenly against the wall as I slid her keycard to her room's card slot. After a bit of dancing and some more drinking (she drank, I didn't), the red-headed girl was totally blasted and wanted nothing more than to head to her room and "have fun". I barely got the door open before Phillipa decided to play a dangerous prank -- she vanished.
    
      "Catch me if you -- hic -- can!" she teased as her giggles receded down the hallway.
    
      Goddammit. I jammed the jamb of Phillipa's room with a spare coin just in case the keycard got lost. There was no telling what I needed to do to get her back. If the security cameras on the ship were on (they usually were), they might've caught her disappearing. It was precisely this sort of overt, obnoxious, carelessness that drew unwanted attention; it compromised Ghost Light in Greece, and embroiled me in mafia bullshit.
    
      Luckily, the security in that part of the ocean-liner was pretty light. Only the lobby, elevators, and part of the decks had cameras. I pocketed Phillipa's keycard and went looking for her. I didn't have to go far. I found her in the corner by the emergency stairs.
    
      I didn't want to, but I had to brain-buzz her to get her to stay put. I did so after I telekinetically slapped the camera in the hall to the side so it couldn't see us. I took Phillipa by the hand and felt her mind and body tingle from my touch.
    
      "Nuh'fair!!!" she whined once before I put her over my shoulder in a fireman's carry.
    
      Phillipa -- the girl and her clothes -- slipped back into view quickly once I buzzed her a bit. Unlike that time I floored her, this was a "fun buzz"; it was weaker than the incapacitating zap, but a little stronger than the "pleasure" zap I'd feed my women. Phillipa instantly responded by giggling madly from both real and imagined hilarity.
    
      As I headed back the way I came, I slapped the camera back to its original angle once I was sure I was cleared from its view. I'm certain the security people would be suspicious about that brief outage, but I didn't need more recorded footage of me. I lugged the obnoxious girl back her room, all while she was singing drunkenly -- and loudly --  much to the dismay of everyone, from the sleeping guests to myself. This was earnestly a lot of attention, although I played it off as the husband dragging his young, drunk wife back to the honeymoon suite.
    
      "Why huw'wo 'der daaah'ling!!" Phillipa laughed at a red-faced elderly Mexican man as he passed by us in the hallway.
    
      He grinned at us, showing off his golden teeth. His expression was friendly enough -- he thought we were either crazy in love or cheating our asses off. I mentally followed him to his destination just to be sure he was innocent of who Phillipa and I were; as it turned out, he was a senior technician from the engineering deck, and he'd just gotten himself some extramarital _puta_ from another room on this deck.
    
      Ah, adultery. How sweet it was as long as one wasn't caught.
    
      While Viktoriya hadn't broken past my mental barriers about Rosalind, I was rather nervous about how quickly Melanie guilted me over the affair. She kept mum about it, but I still wondered how she was able to get past my meticulous preparations. If she picked up on what I had done, was it perhaps that I was thinking about Rosalind when I shouldn't have been?
    
      So, what to do about Phillipa? I realized I was going to at least stick around and keep the girl in her room until she sobered up. Otherwise, there'd be no telling what the hell she'd do "for fun".
    
      Phillipa stretched and smiled dreamily as I threw her onto the bed. Seeing her so frazzled, I started having second thoughts until she flung out her foot and groped my bulging crotch with her toes. As I danced on the edge of whether or not to go ahead with this, I felt myself getting progressively hornier as Phillipa drew me closer by clasping her legs around my waist. She gawked at me with her bright blue eyes as she absently sucked on a finger.
    
      Mirage was a tall girl (even taller than my tallest darling, Rachelle) and that put her on my level when I crawled on top of her. I hazarded a guess this may have had something to do with her physical condition (true, as I found out later) or (as I thought at the time) maybe she was simply born tall. I put myself over her and began kissing her face; Phillipa groaned and encircled my neck with her arms.
    
      Whatever physical problem the red-head thought she had, I didn't see many flaws on her body. By now, even Melanie had some parts of her body only a husband could love. Phillipa though, still in the prime of her youth, possessed a near-perfect body; she was a living Galatea. I also noticed she was mostly hairless. Apart from the thick fountain of hair on head, her body only had a very pale, translucent peach-colored fuzz. I undid Phillipa's blouse and fondled those perky B-cups of hers. She squealed softly when I snurbed them playfully.
    
      "Oh man. Wow," Phillipa sighed as she lay back on the bed, "You do that so good."
    
      "Mmm-hmm." I extended a hand and started undoing her pants.
    
      Almost instantly, I felt her thoughts go into overdrive: 'Oh man, this is going to be hard to explain.' 'I wonder if he could tell.' 'Ah fuck that, I wonder if it'll hurt like hell again.' 'Maybe I should just suck him off and call it a night.'
    
      That was interesting, I thought as I kissed her navel, eliciting a soft coo from her throat. I wondered how "different" she was. I was sure I didn't see male genitalia when Phillipa was wearing a swimsuit earlier in the evening. Not like that would've done much to deter me. I thought back to what had happened at Franky's club.
    
      My old co-worker had left the building business before the economy cratered, then used his savings to buy and renovate a club in the city that catered to male-to-female transfolk and female cross-dressers. I received the dubious honor of being one of the first VIPs at his club after I approved the design; he set me up with a hot little shim who hailed from Hawaii the night of his grand-opening.
    
      At the time, I had just started seeing Rosalind, so I wasn't eager to experiment; however, after Franky and I finalized the details of the remodelling job (as a friendly favor, he signed off on the work-order, allowing me to launder my money and the project cost him next to nothing), I succumbed to my uncontrollable libido, and accepted a blowjob from Franky's "hostess" when I took her home. I had no qualms fucking the tranny's pretty face (she was pretty advanced in her transition) while I watched her boobs bounce and jiggle, but that was as far as I went.
    
      Now I wondered what exactly was Phillipa's ailment; I was prepared to stop if I saw anything I didn't like. I licked her lovely white calves and thighs, and slowly made my way slowly towards her crotch. I had a little trepidation about what I'd find there, but I soon found I had nothing to be alarmed about. Her cunt was baby smooth and almost like the model of what a perfect pussy should be. I examined it with amazement as I alternately kissed both sides of her groin, much to her delight.
    
      "Oh gawd -- oh mah' gawd," Phillipa slurred, "You're drivin' me fuckin' crazy."
    
      "Yeah," I murmured as I began working over her exposed gash.
    
      That's when it hit me. Her pussy was -- to put it mildly -- way too tight and dry. Having enjoyed the favors of my wives for some many years, I knew what a cunt should have looked like for a woman her age. Phillipa's pussy was oddly small; almost like she hadn't gone through puberty. Sensing my hesitation, the lanky red-head grew wary.
    
      "Something wrong?" she asked, her tone quickly sober.
    
      "No, I just --" I grunted and shifted over to her side, "Just need to get used to you."
    
      "Oh." Phillipa cast her eyes downwards.
    
      She didn't speak as I re-adjusted my position to be beside her. Once I started on her again though, she let out a pent-up sigh. I sensed her frustration though, and carefully made light of her discomfort.
    
      "Something the matter?"
    
      "I think you know already," Phillipa said quietly, "Don't you?"
    
      "I try not to pry." I stroked her shoulder gently. "Unless you want me to."
    
      "That's rather nice of you," her tone was sarcastic as she turned over to face me.
    
      I sensed she was trying to gauge me and wondering whether or not I was telling her the truth. Of course, I had already scanned her, but she didn't need to know that. I played nice and put on my best smile.
    
      "You want to tell me about it?" I asked gently.
    
      Phillipa chewed her lip a bit, unsure how to even begin. While she fretted, I decided that she could benefit from a little persuasion. I released a thin stream of thoughts -- what I wanted to do to her cunt, her mouth, her ass -- as the backs of my fingers glided over her smooth alabaster skin. The pretty red-head shivered uncontrollably. She purred when I gently scratched her groin with the tips of my fingers.
    
      "C'mon." I nuzzled her. "You can tell me."
    
      "I -- I'm a guy."
    
      "Say again?" I humored her. "You don't look like one, but that's one good excuse --"
    
      "No Stanley. It's not that." She took a deep breath and started, "It's called A.I.S., or androgyn insensitivity syndrome ...."
    
      I lay beside her and listened to Phillipa as she explained her condition. It was nothing I hadn't gleaned from her although she was able to fill in some of the messier details. She had no ovaries or a fallopian tube. Additionally, her cunt couldn't lubricate, and it was probably not as flexible as a genuine woman's birth canal would be. That's why the sex -- the horrible, horrible sex -- she had engaged with a boy in college was ---
    
      "-- the most painful thing I ever did," Phillipa finished flatly.
    
      "If you suspected it was going to be that bad," I pointed out, "Why'd you disrobe?"
    
      "Because," she spoke softly and lowered her gaze, "It's what you were thinking about all night."
    
      "You can read minds now?" I chided her, "So much for my job."
    
      "I don't need to be a mind-reader to know what you were thinking about." Phillipa wrinkled her nose. "From what Bethany's told me, that's all you think about."
    
      Nosy bitch, I thought. I knew Masquerade was an empire citizen, but her skill with telepathy wasn't something she advertised to the agency, or anyone else. Now that I knew what she could do, I likely would have to deal with it, as well as everything else Bethany had her hand in. Just what I needed. More fucking problems.
    
      "Don't believe everything she tells you," I growled and Phillipa found the temerity to laugh.
    
      "And why wouldn't I?" She leered warily at me. "Beth told me about the girls you were juggling way back then."
    
      "Yeah," I said slowly, "About them. Maybe I should level with you. I mean, you revealed something very personal."
    
      Her gaze didn't waver, and she waited with bated breath. Phillipa trusted me enough to tell me her little secret, so ought I not give something in return? It seemed only fair ...
    
      "I kinda married 'em all," I blurted. Ah yes, I thought. I'd rather be prosecuted as a bigamist than reveal the invisible empire. As much as I loved my family, I feared the empire -- and the likes of Tseng would do to them -- even more.
    
      "Wh--what?!" Phillipa's jaw dropped. "No way! You married those girls she said you were dating?"
    
      "Yes. And three more," I corrected her, then mentally kicked myself for having such a big mouth.
    
      "Wow." She flopped back on the bed. "Jesus, Stanley. So, what're you doin' here with me?"
    
      "Vacation sex," I replied candidly. "You can't imagine, but I sometimes have more work at home than I do in the field. Cover story and all."
    
      "Yeah." Phillipa looked at me oddly. "I guess it's the nature of the job, huh?"
    
      "I guess."
    
      I glanced at her and saw the scared, slender ginger I had cornered and caught years ago. The same pity I had for her then, I had now. Her face and mine were fairly close. Phillipa's eyes met mine and I gave her my trademark grin. Before she could say more, I kissed her.
    
      The red-head gasped in surprise as I gently teased her lips, begging her to part them. She placed a hand on me as if to push me away, but I took hold of it and calmed her down. I rolled the girl on top of me. I satisfied myself with running my palms down her sides.
    
      She had broken off our kiss, but she didn't protest; instead, she merely turned her head and let me plant kisses on her neck and the side of her head. I cupped her ass and gave her milky muffins a gentle squeeze, eliciting a soft sigh from her. With the weight and warmth of Phillipa on me, I felt my cock strain against the fabric of my pants.
    
      By now, she hadn't done much save hold my head in a desperate attempt to keep control. Though she could've easily prevented me from going further, at no point did she resist as I licked and kissed her tits, neck, and face.
    
      "Sss -- Stan -- leee," Phillipa gasped, "I -- I think you should -- ohh!!"
    
      In an instant, I flipped her onto her back, and I was holding her legs up and over my shoulders. She had adopted the look of a trashy whore, thanks to her obscene choice of body decoration. Her sky blue toenails had tiny colored stickers on them, and cheap plastic earrings made her look like she was fresh out of high school. The thought of her being that young though, only made me hornier.
    
      My cock strained in the confines of my slacks, and Phillipa understood my need for release. Her legs fell to the side, revealing her tiny, hairless slit. I removed my shirt and unzipped my pants. Had I any less experience, I would've dived right in. However, I knew that I had to be cautious, so I proceeded carefully. She had mentioned it hurt before; I knew that to be true if the woman wasn't ready. So, I gingerly fingered the red-head.
    
      Despite Phillipa's stature, her little bare pussy was abnormally tight and small. I could barely fit my index finger in, let alone several fingers. I heard her inhale sharply as I nibbled and played with her cunt. That's interesting. She was truly fucking tight. I spooned her, but didn't stop teasing her sensitive spots, bottom and top. Thinking back to my past experiences, I remembered the first time when Yu-Ching and I consumated. Janet had used some lubricant (a lot of it). I wondered if it might work now.
    
      "Hey, you have lubricant right?" I asked, "Something slick? Oily?"
    
      "I got suntan lotion." Phillipa pointed lazily at her travel bag. "In there."
    
      I got up and rummaged through her things. Sure enough, there was a bottle of suntan oil, but I found something better.
    
      "Petroleum jelly?" I turned and asked her. "What'd you need this for? Baby rash?"
    
      "Not exactly." Her cheeks became bright red. "I get chapped lips a lot. I just need a bit when I go out."
    
      "Well looks like you brought along enough to last you a while," I held up the fist-sized jar.
    
      "It's cheaper than the small tubes."
    
      I undid the jar lid and scooped a hefty amount of jelly. I rubbed my fingers together, examining the gel. This stuff was pretty slick.
    
      "Wh--what are you doing?" Phillipa asked.
    
      "What do you think I'm going to do?" I gave her a wry grin.
    
      The red-haired girl gasped when I slathered a thick glob of petroleum jelly around her sweet, smooth cunt. She chewed her lip and lay back, eyes shut. Her body was tense and I sensed she was both excited and scared; her thoughts in turn, excited me. I parted her legs and worked in a slick, jelly-covered finger.
    
      Phillipa whimpered as her cunt slowly swallowed my finger, knuckle by aching knuckle. Damn, she was hot -- and I was referring to her body temperature. I felt her fuck-hole rhythmically pulse around my finger. When I hilted my digit into her body, I began to flex it.
    
      "Yeah, shit baby." I kissed the top of her knee. "Look at that. See my finger? It's going to get better in a bit."
    
      Phillipa's eyes were open now, her lips parted and her breathing was becoming more rapid. She brought her head up to see me slowly stroking her undeveloped baby basket. Using mind-sight, I could see her gaze was now focused on my rapidly hardening cock. Almost immediately, I felt her heart leap to her throat. Thoughts of: 'Omigod, he's going to do it.' 'He's going to stick that in me.' 'It's so damn -- big already -- fuck!' 'Oh-god-oh-god-oh-god-oh-god ...' ran through her mind.
    
      I pulled my finger back out, and reached for the jar of jelly. It was the brand that had the scent of baby powder; the smell reminded how I used talcum powder on my lovely Melanie when she was younger. The memories spurred nostalgia, guilt, and carnal lust within me. I covered my prick with the gel and crawled on top of Phillipa.
    
      "Oh man. Oh wow, wait," she tried pushing me off, "What about a condom?"
    
      "What about it?" I gently caught both her hands and pinned her to the bed.
    
      The young woman gulped as she realized I was going to fuck her raw. "But I -- oh!! Ow!!! OWWW!!"
    
      My dick bumped awkwardly against her lips, but with the years of skill I had, I nudged my cock a bit with telekinesis and penetrated her. Phillipa cried softly as I slowly lowered myself into the depths of her body.
    
      "Oh God, stop! Stop, please!!" she hissed in my ear, "It hurts, Stanley! It hurts so much!"
    
      "Yeah, all right."
    
      I gritted my teeth and settled on top of her. I fought the urge, lest the slightest movement injure her. I could feel Phillipa's tight cunt wrapped around my cock. It was as tight, if not more so, than when I had broke Melanie in all those years ago. The warm, wet jelly's powder scent was still in my nostrils, and I desperately wanted to get things going. I could show her the pleasures of being a woman.
    
      The red-headed girl though, was panting -- almost hyper-ventilating -- as she clutched me tightly, afraid that I'd move. As much as I wanted to listen to Phillipa, my body reacted naturally. My face was buried to the side of her head, and the sweet mix of her perfume and sweat was overriding my self-control. My cock involuntarily twitched and she gasped.
    
      "Oh-m'God, Stanley," she whispered hoarsely, "Th--that felt nice."
    
      "It did?" I propped myself so I could look into her eyes. She nodded slightly, her eyes sparkling with fear and excitement.
    
      "Okay," I said softly, "I think I can just loosen you up a bit. Just tell me if you're hurting, all right?"
    
      Phillipa didn't answer, but nodded again. I propped myself over her, and gently kissed her trembling lips. The girl was so wound up and tense, her thoughts were bouncing around all over the place; I had to get her relaxed, or her cunt would never loosen up. I bit her lips softly, my fingertips gently stroking her ears and neck. The slender red-head slowly relaxed; her breathing became more rhythmic and her body more limber.
    
      Soon, she was mimicking the little things I did to her. When I teased her lips, she would come back with a quick kiss on my chin. When I'd gently bite her ear lobes, she'd wrap her arms around me, stroking my neck and urging me on. After a few minutes of teasing, Phillipa signalled she was ready.
    
      She gasped when I pulled out. Seeing her eyes closed, I froze and waited for her to give the okay. She opened her eyes again and nodded. This time, when I pushed myself back in, she moaned.
    
      "Oh yeah," Phillipa sighed. "It's better, Stanley. But go slow. God, please go slow."
    
      "Yeah, I'll try," I gnashed my teeth. Damn, this was harder than I thought.
    
      The thought-stream I was getting from Phillipa was pretty much what I expected -- she was horny and in heat. That made it difficult to maintain my tempo, but I gave it my best shot. The red-head watched me with a mix of curiosity and fascination as I slowly pumped her nubile body. Her warm, alabaster skin was silky smooth where it touched me. Her breasts were tipped by hard, pink nipples; nipples untouched by piercings or teething tots, and jiggling with each thrust I made.
    
      Phillipa, unsure of what to do with her hands, reached for me and I took hold of them. I bent over her once more, my hands pinning hers to the bed. She writhed under me in mild protest, but I held fast.
    
      "Try something else, sweetheart," I said.
    
      "Like what?" she asked confused. "And how?"
    
      "Just try. Play around," I did my best to explain as I kept fucking her.
    
      "Oh."
    
      Phillipa looked down, watching my fuck needle threading her hairless baby basket. She parted her legs more, exposing her cunt more to my assault. After a few powerful strokes, she clamped her legs around me and I reduced the depth of my thrusts. Experimenting further, she began running her smooth soles of her feet over the back of my calves, making me shiver with delight.
    
      "Oh, wow." The ginger girl gave me a wide grin. "I get it now. Geez, Bethany was right -- you're such a perv."
    
      I grunted as her eyes grew as wide as her smile. Because I was pinning her hands down, I was just hovering an inch or so above her. Phillipa craned her head up and kissed me on the shoulder. She was getting braver now, and I felt her working down towards the nape of my neck. An intense feeling of release was coming over me when I heard her giggle.
    
      I blinked and saw she had disappeared -- or partly so (a new trick!). Her whole body was translucent and white-grayish, almost like the covers of the bed. Looking down, I dimly made out my cock, slathered in petroleum jelly, poling furiously at the invisible walls of Phillipa's pussy. The red-head managed to keep her face visible. I saw her beautiful eyes sparkle with mischief as she tried adjusting how much her body faded.
    
      "Look, look Stanley!" She laughed softly. "I can see your cock in me! It's so cute!"
    
      Despite the weirdness, I had to smile. Phillipa gave me a toothsome grin as I whispered fiercely in her ear.
    
      "I'm -- cumming."
    
      "Really?" The rest of her body quickly returned into view. She gave me a look of concern and asked, "Do you think that's wise?"
    
      "N--no." I barely uttered a reply when I surged my hips forward in one powerful thrust.
    
      "OH-GAWD!!" She winced as I unloaded a full blast of infant gunk into her body. Phillipa gasped, sputtered, and held on for dear life as I strained my body and drained my balls. I collapsed on top of her, my gel-covered cock twitching in her cunt.
    
      "Stanley, you fucking douche." She eyed me unhappily. "You're so lucky I can never get pregnant!"
    
    ===============================================================================
      FREE LOVE
    ===============================================================================
    
      Helping Viktoriya pack and move was one of the most uncomfortable things I had to endure, although it was nowhere as hard as when Janet confronted me about Rachelle and Jamie a few weeks after 9/11. It wasn't the fact that I had just committed some serious adultery, but rather, I had to watch Viktoriya suffer as she parted with her lover, Freya.
    
      On a happier note, Phillipa was a joy. The two of us spent the night in her cabin after some more intimate activity. The next morning, I ordered room service and we had a civil breakfast. Things only got kinky when Phillipa surprised me in the shower with an invisible blowjob. I watched my cum splash inside her mouth, then slowly fade into nothingness as she swallowed my joy juice.
    
      But she knew when to stop; we parted company shortly before the ship docked. Before I disembarked, I checked the vents and ceiling of Mirage's cabin one last time before I left. I was still suspicious that no one was shadowing her. Did the agency know Phillipa and I were on the same ship? Or were they confident the tracker they implanted was enough? Perhaps they filmed me while I was in-coitus with the lean red-head.
    
      Blackmail was always a possibility, even if Phillipa had innocent intentions. I left only when I was satisfied there was nothing amiss and took a cab to Viktoriya's place in Brooklyn. Once there, I found her in the midst of moving heavy furniture into a cargo truck with a few other people.
    
      "Hallo Stanislav." Viktoriya gave me a quick peck on the cheek. "You know Marcello, but here're some other friends I'd like you to meet ...."
    
      The crowd was just a few of my dusky Russkie's institute and dancesport friends, all utterly forgetable. Cristobel's boyfriend, Marcello, and Freya were the only ones I'd seen (through mind-sight or photos) before. The others were all 'normals', although I suspected the pretty boys were Cristobel's playthings, and the women were Viktoriya's toys.
    
      'Nice guess, friend.' Cristobel thought-spoke. 'But they're just friends and dance partners.'
    
      'Look who's talking!' Viktoriya's snappy mental barb was evident. 'You'd have your weekly orgies if it weren't for that ankle of yours!'
    
      'Well, that's only half-true.' My wife's dancesport partner confided. 'Vika usually locks the women into her room before things get interesting. She never shares, Stanley.'
    
      'Do I have to hear this?' I pinged. 'And don't you need to flex that ankle before the joint becomes immobile?'
    
      'Well yes, thank you for the reminder, sir.' Cristobel's presence receded and dimmed. 'Take care.'
    
      Outwardly, I gave Viktoriya a bland smile, while she greeted me with a timidity I rarely saw. After I placed my bag in her room, I helped with the rest of the move. According to Viktoriya, Freya would be moving into Cristobel's and Marcello's flat; with Viktoriya gone, Freya would need both the company and help with rent.
    
      Right after the truck was loaded, Viktoriya took me to dinner near the Radio City Music Hall. After dinner, she showed me a nice surprise: as it turned out, Viktoriya was a part-time Rockette. She'd substitute for permanent members who were out sick or otherwise unavailable.
    
      "You never mentioned that before." I was genuinely surprised. "How long had you done that?"
    
      "For a while now. And I have to give it up," Viktoriya playfully chided me in public. "See how much I put up with you? And putting poor Freya in with two boys, you monster!"
    
      As much as it was "poor Freya this" and "poor Freya that", I did notice that Viktoriya was visibly reserved with me when the pretty Dutch girl was around. The more I hung around them, I felt more like a third wheel than a husband.
    
      During the Saturday Night Live taping (it was the December 19 episode), the two were holding hands and giggling as soon as the house lights went down. I was beginning to get the distinct feeling that whatever Viktoriya was going for, it wasn't a wifely role back in San Francisco.
    
      It left me wondering what she was doing. Was Viktoriya simply going through the motions for my sake? For Milhail's? Or was it something else? I was so focused on this, I was again surprised once we were on board the plane. I saw Viktoriya looking despondently out the window when I ambled back to her from the restroom.
    
      'Something wrong?' I thought-spoke.
    
      'What do you think?!' Viktoriya mentally hissed back. Outwardly, she remained motionless as she stared blankly out the window.
    
      She ignored me even as I settled down beside her. The air in the third-class cabin stank of sweat and unwashed bodies. The cramped quarters were more uncomfortable than cozy, and my insensitivity towards Viktoriya's suffering wasn't helping. She finally turned when I took up her hand, and I could see she had been crying.
    
      'I'm sorry.' I dipped my eyes. 'I didn't realize you two were that close.'
    
      Viktoriya let out a breath, almost as if she had been waiting for me to apologize.
    
      'It's okay, Stanislav.' She rested her head against my arm. 'I knew she was just to keep me company; I think she knew it too.'
    
      I gave her hand a gentle squeeze and Viktoriya sniffed. Between poking around her mental veil and drawing on the few thoughts of Freya's I picked up during my brief stay, I formed what I knew to be the truth of the matter: while Viktoriya sincerely loved Freya, it wasn't wholly mutual. Freya did enjoy Viktoriya's company, but the skinny gymnast sometimes found my Russian bride a bit too much. Viktoriya was especially overbearing when Freya wanted to see other people.
    
      Was it jealousy? The instant I thought of it, I felt her nails dig into my hand.
    
      'I'm not jealous!'
    
      'I didn't mean it that way.' I clarified my thought, but Viktoriya still wasn't happy.
    
      'It's not fair.' She thought-spoke sadly. 'You got what you wanted, Stanislav. Why can't I have what I want?'
    
      I didn't have an immediate answer, but I empathized with her plight. Had Viktoriya been born a man, she'd be setting up her own harem, just like me. Or maybe she could, if just --
    
      'Don't even think of it.'
    
      'Think of what?' I kept my innocent mentality.
    
      'I know what you're thinking, and it won't work.' Viktoriya grew uneasy. 'If you think Janna was jealous before, what will you tell her if you bond Freya? She wouldn't even be your wife!'
    
      'No, she wouldn't.' I felt my heart skip a beat; I couldn't believe I was proposing this shit. 'Because she'd be yours.'
    
      I heard Viktoriya's sharp intake of breath. For the longest time, she didn't say anything, but I could pick up what she had going through her mind (despite her trying to hide them). I let Viktoriya hide her thoughts from me, content that I was doing only what I thought to be right. When I dared to look her way, I saw her dark eyes cautiously staring back.
    
      'Are you sure, kisa?'
    
      'If it makes you happy.' I smiled nervously. 'Although ...'
    
      'Although what?'
    
      'If I were you, I would ask her to come.' I thought-spoke. 'I wouldn't make her.'
    
      'Why, of course.' My Slavic siren lowered her eyes. 'I understand. It wouldn't be love would it?'
    
      'No, it wouldn't.' I rubbed her hand, and felt her fingers interlock with mine.
    
      Viktoriya reached up to kiss me and I returned her affection, although the overall mood of our trip back was glum. Still, there was nothing else but to settle down for the rest of our flight. She moped all the way home despite my best attempts to cheer her up.
    
      Even the brief stop at her parents' in Indiana didn't do much to lift her spirits, although she put on a brave face the whole time. Thankfully, things were pretty much ready by the time we came home. We barely got past the front door when Melanie stepped out from Viktoriya's unit.
    
      "Oh!" She seemed startled, but quickly started to chatter away. "You're home early! Why didn't you call? I thought you wanted this to be a surprise!"
    
      "Surprise?" Viktoriya asked.
    
      "What surprise?" I echoed.
    
      Melanie wasn't part of what I'd planned. Little Chen barely got out another word before excited cries erupted past the door and the three of us were quickly surrounded by the kids, all clamoring for attention.
    
      "Dad!" "Da-daa!!"
    
      "Well, glad to see you too," I struggled to keep balance. "Now please make yourselves useful and help your mother with her stuff."
    
      The two older boys each wrestled a suitcase while the twins scampered off with Viktoriya's purse. Jenny, Kady, and Freddy were too small, and had to satisfy themselves with carrying our coats and a carry-on. Jillian was nowhere to be seen, but I sensed she was already upstairs helping in the kitchen. We headed into Vika's unit and found Melanie had strung up a welcome banner, and in the midst of setting up something more when she was interrupted by our arrival.
    
      "Welcome home." The little woman hugged Viktoriya.
    
      'Are you blushing?' I thought-spoke.
    
      Viktoriya ignored me but managed to whisper, "Thank you."
    
      "Hey, dad." Michael pulled my sleeve. "Can I stay here instead of mom's tonight?"
    
      "Sure," I said absently, and just as quickly stopped. "Wait. What'd you do now?"
    
      "Nuthin'," my son whispered conspiratorially, "I just wanna play with Milhail."
    
      "I know you do," I gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder, "But your mom misses you too. Play tomorrow, okay?"
    
      My oldest son looked unhappy, but he didn't complain.
    
      "'Kay guys, we're going to have dinner in a little bit," Melanie announced and clapped her hands, "C'mon! Time to go. Upstairs, now!"
    
      Michael shuffled out the door, sullen and depressed. The younger kids obediently followed their brother, with Little Chen herding them from the rear. Only Milhail remained. He nervously looked on as his mother got to unpacking her things.
    
      Despite the brief sleep-overs Milhail had just a few months before, Viktoriya's move back signified that things would be different. The boy would live chiefly with her now, and not with Janet, as he had the past couple years. For a six year old, it was a pretty big change.
    
      I had anticipated this and had tasked him with finding and wrapping a gift to keep him occupied. When Viktoriya disappeared into the bedroom, I gave my son the thumbs up. Milhail sped off to his room, zipping right past his mother in the hallway.
    
      'My he's grown.' Viktoriya thought-spoke as she stepped back into the living room.
    
      "Don't run, Mily!" she called out. "You know the floors are slippery!"
    
      The boy didn't answer and Viktoriya sighed.
    
      "I'm sure he heard you." I patted the small of her back.
    
      'I _know_ he did.' The Baltic beauty looked unhappy. Suddenly, she cocked her head. 'Stanislav? What are you planning?'
    
      I put a finger to my lips and grinned. 'I know it's hard for us to be surprised, but let's pretend, okay?'
    
      Viktoriya was about to respond when Milhail came back out with a small wrapped box.
    
      He timidly held out the gift and murmured, "Merry Christmas, mom."
    
      "Spasee-baa." Viktoriya knelt so she could be eye-to-eye with her son. "Thank you. But it's not Christmas yet."
    
      "I know." Milhail nodded. "But dad wanted me to give it to you early."
    
      "Did he now?" She passed me a curious glance before she asked, "May I open it?"
    
      The boy smiled and nodded as she gently tore off the gift-wrap.
    
      'Don't look at me.' I joked mentally. 'It's coming out of his college fund.'
    
      'So juvenile.' Viktoriya broadcasted a mental sigh. 'Won't you ever grow up?'
    
      'No.' I pinged her playfully and immediately felt her exasperation.
    
      Luckily, Viktoriya's eyes quickly softened when she opened the velvet box. Inside was a small gold locket. She took it out and examined it carefully.
    
      "Open it, mom." Milhail said excitedly. "Open it! Open it!"
    
      Viktoriya's eyes welled up once she did. Inside the locket, a current photo of Milhail was on one side, while the other had one of him as a baby and being affectionately kissed by his mother.
    
      "Do you like it?" he asked shyly.
    
      "Yes." Viktoriya hugged him tearfully. "Yes, very much. Thank you, Milhail. Merry Christmas. I love you."
    
      Milhail beamed proudly as he hugged her back. "Merry Christmas, mama."
    
      'Merry Christmas, sweetheart.' I thought-spoke. 'Love you much, Vika.'
    
      'Oh, Stanislav.' Viktoriya was high with emotion. 'Love you much, kisa.'
    
    ===============================================================================
      COPYRIGHT: 2010. THIS WORK IS CONSIDERED PRIVATE AND ITS DISTRIBUTION IS
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                 PLEASE CHECK WITH YOUR LOCAL LAWS BEFORE CREATING OR DISTRIBUTING
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         AUTHOR: MAXIMILLIAN ZHANG
    
         EDITOR: FERMAT and VOYER
    
         E-MAIL: GREY228 [ON] HOTMAIL
    ===============================================================================


	6. Invisible Empire - Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stanley is an average kid - easily distracted, lazy, and unremarkable. Then he discovers he has not just a power, but several powers. Creepy abilities that can't be fully understood, or even mastered. Trouble begins when he starts using his powers, and in doing so, Stanley will meet Davey (from Steven Gould's 'Jumper' novel) and the Roget family (from Robert Cormier's 'Fade').
> 
> Many of the other characters are drawn from my personal past, although many more are simply stock characters (this is a porn story after all). I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
    
    
    ===============================================================================
      LEGAL DISCLAIMER
    ===============================================================================
    
    The following literary work is one of historic fiction. While certain elements may be recognized as based on actual events, the characters and personal events are fictitious. No actual persons were involved in the creation of this fictional work, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is pure coincidence.
    
    Certain characters portrayed within this work are copyrighted to Gould (1993) and Cormier (1988). The author wishes to express his deep gratitude towards the aforementioned for giving him creative inspiration when still a young man, and to stretch his imaginations beyond one's own reality. For this, and the countless other aspiring writers in the mainstream and underground markets you've inspired, the author sincerely thanks you. No malice or slight was intended by the willful inclusion of your marvelous creations into this work.
    
    This work is intended for adults, and features situations, dialogue, and descriptions that are unsuitable for minors. Please be mindful of your local laws and customs in regards to distributing or dissemination of obscene material. Thank you.
    
    ===============================================================================
    
                         The empire you hold is a despotism ...
                         established by reason of your strength.
    
                                              -- Cleon of Athens
    
    ===============================================================================
      AN INVISIBLE EMPIRE
    ===============================================================================
    
      You can see us, but you do not know where we are.
    
      You can hear us, but you do not know what we are.
    
      You can even speak with us, but you will not know who we are.
    
      We are an invisible empire, a secret kingdom, and we rule the world.
    
                                     =======
      -----------
      PREVIOUSLY:
      -----------
    
      Stanley's affair with Rosalind escalates until he includes his brother, Andrew, in the debauchery. This leads to domestic disharmony when Andrew's infidelity sullies an existing friendship Janet had with Andrew's ex-girlfriend's sister. This forces Stanley to end his affair with Rosalind for the time being. In an attempt to make herself useful to the situation, Rachelle plays match-maker and arranges for Andrew and Ami to date, much to Stanley's surprise.
    
      On a different front, Melanie and Rachelle are injured when kidnappers make off with two of the children. With assistance from friendly local detectives, Stanley tracks down the kidnappers and saves the day. He immediately carries out revenge against the parties responsible, killing Rachelle's former beau in the process, and cataloging elements of the American Mafia for future retaliation.
    
      The rest of the year is occupied when Stanley tries to reconcile Viktoriya's desires with practical reality, as well as deal with an instance of infidelity between his brother Andrew and his fiancee. A chance encounter at the end of 2008 sees Stanley and Phillipa aboard a cruise liner. Having just put Rosalind's affair behind him, he engages in another adulterous affair with his agency colleague.
    
    ===============================================================================
      JANUARY JOSTLIN'
    ===============================================================================
    
      The start of 2009 was ominous, and I'm not referring to the Grant-Mehserle shooting which incited the Oakland riots months later. Upon coming back from Waikiki, I was beset by new problems, chiefly from the fallout of Sachiko's and Andrew's break-up. Her departure turned his world upside down.
    
      During his initial period of misery, my brother did something utterly foolish, and now it came back to haunt him. A call had gone out amongst the psychologists and behavioral specialists in Andrew's unit for TDY (temporary duty assignment) in Al Basrah (Basra), Iraq.
    
      Still moping over Sachiko, my numb-nuts, dickheaded little brother had put in the paperwork and never looked back. Usually, it wasn't something to worry over, as such assignments weren't always given to the person requesting it. But soon after Andrew and Ameena started seeing one another, his orders to ship out came, and that was a rather rude surprise to everyone.
    
      Faraz's sister had -- through Rachelle's well-intentioned meddling -- become intimate with my brother. Although Faraz and I had been good friends, our siblings weren't part of our circle. Now the two were near inseparable; Ami was attracted to his good looks, and Andrew found her penchant for lovemaking met his expectations. All in all, they were a happy couple.
    
      But there was no way to work around marching orders, (well, no easy way) especially since Andrew had asked for it in the first place. Still, a warzone was a warzone, and even if he were tucked away safely deep in the Green Zone, padded with layers of barbed wire, sand bags, and scores of security drones walking the perimeter, the possibility of my dumbass brother being zapped by one of Ami's disgruntled countrymen didn't sit well with our parents, me, or any of my lovely darlings.
    
      "That dork better not pull off a Jon-Peter," I quipped absently after coming back to the condo.
    
      "Stanley!" Rachelle admonished me sternly, "Don't say that! How could you even think it?"
    
      "How can't anyone?" I looked towards my mocha-skinned mate and saw the hurt in her eyes.
    
      We were troubled by two deaths: Heidi's first husband, as well as Faraz. Both men had died from anti-American insurgents. Faraz on 9/11, and Jon-Peter in Iraq. Now the threat of death loomed over Andrew.
    
      Rachelle hugged me tightly and I said nothing more as I returned her affection. When I did, I had to let go of the twins. Danielle and Janelle took that as a cue to scamper off, both of them eager to reach the elevator first. Despite the gloom which had polluted our evening, Rachelle and I cracked smiles as we saw our twin girls hopping about trying to reach the big glowing "up" button.
    
      It was Andrew's last night in the States, at least for a little while. Ami wanted to see him off, but because his flight was being made from a military base, my brother and I dissuaded her from coming along to avoid generating unwarranted suspicion. While I was certain I could squelch doubts security may have had about Ami's presence, it was far easier to avoid creating the situation in the first place.
    
      So, she settled for a quiet dinner at the old 35th Avenue house. We knew not to impose on my parents' home (not to mention bringing all the kids along), but since Ami was in Rachelle's circle of friends, she decided to accompany me to see my brother off. Supper was short and sweet. As soon as it was over, Andrew packed his things and drove off to the base in Sacramento so he could fly out the next morning. In the meantime, we dropped off a depressed Ami at her parents' place.
    
      When we left, I pinged the young woman to check in on her; she was curled up and crying herself to sleep. The thoughts which raced through her mind were as unwholesome as mine: images of Andrew being blown up, shot, or hacked to pieces. It was strange that she and I shared a similar cynicism about the world at large.
    
      "Stanley? Sugar?"
    
      "Yes, hon?" I snapped to attention; while pondering my brother's future, I had entered Rachelle's unit without even thinking, and simply sat down without a word. To my dark-skinned darling, it seemed like I was like a walking zombie.
    
      "I know this is hard for you," Rachelle whispered and sat beside me.
    
      "Don't think it," I said. "It's bad vibes."
    
      She drew back and sized me up. "Do you want to stay here tonight?"
    
      "That'd be nice." I took her by the hand and bumped foreheads with her. "But don't you have an early day tomorrow?"
    
      "Not quite. But if you get too unruly," she gave me a smirk, "I'll just roll you onto the floor."
    
      "You and Jan are so alike now," I chided her.
    
      Rachelle flashed me a big toothy grin, then bit me lightly on the nose before she kissed the same spot. We were playful, but guarded, as we got our 4 year-old girls ready for bed. After bathing them, I looked after them while Rachelle showered. Danielle and Janelle were competing to see who would make a bigger mess in their coloring books when my mocha-skinned mate stepped back out, fresh and powdered.
    
      "I'll be waiting, sugar." Her fingers grazed my sides gently. "Don't make it too long."
    
      "I won't." I gave her a demure peck on the cheek. "Fifteen minutes tops."
    
      I quickly headed downstairs to my unit, got cleaned up and headed back to Rachelle's with a small tote. With the exception of Viktoriya, my darlings all thought I had learned lock-picking, or had some "skeleton" key on me when I went to their place.
    
      The simple fact was that I was using telekinesis, so there was no real need for me to carry any keys at all, save as a distraction for the kids when they got fussy, or to have something jutting out from the car's ignition lock.
    
      It was the hour or so before bedtime when the kids would wind down. Janelle finished a page, tottered over to me, and began telling an animal story while Danielle related the other half. Between their jumbled thoughts and pidgin English, Rachelle and I had to fight to stay awake and remain interested.
    
      For me, there was an ulterior motive for my interest: the twins were interesting study subjects for me and Viktoriya; they seemed empathic to one another, and both often chimed off on similar subjects.
    
      They knew how to work their magic on their poor mother too; while one would whine and plead, the other would be looking on in confident silence, occasionally delivering a supportive word, or drawing attention while her sister could catch her breath.
    
      Viktoriya privately confided to me they reminded her of the Children of the Corn (strangely, it's the one film where my Slavic siren will cling to me for dear life throughout). My Russian darling could only scratch her head at the odd development, for our own son Milhail, despite being older than Rachelle's twins, didn't seem to be gifted at all.
    
      'And here you gave her two fine empaths!' My dusky Russkie would often bemoan.
    
      Naturally, their birth-mother caught onto none of this. Rachelle was stressed and pressured out of her mind, although she and I cherished our daughters. When their incessant attempts for attention got to be too much -- my black beauty was on the verge of a panic attack -- I got the girls to focus on one of their favorite shows, Babar the Elephant. I sensed Rachelle relax as the twins turned their attention to the TV (and thank God for digital recorders).
    
      Not wanting to waste an opportunity, I asked the girls to tell me about the characters. While I knew the show inside and out (thanks to sitting and watching it countless times) I wanted Danielle and Janelle to _think_ how to deliver a summary for their cognitive development. Rachelle sat beside me while the twins eagerly chatted with me until their eyelids became droopy. From there, it was straight to bed.
    
      "Thank you, sugar," my mocha-skinned honey sighed. "It's just like Jay said, 'They don't stop! They never do!'"
    
      "They're just excited and curious. Give 'em a year." I chuckled as I pulled her towards me. "I'm sure they'll be as quiet as Jenny then."
    
      "I can only hope!" Rachelle rested her head against me.
    
      "Well, now that we're alone," I murmured, "whatever should we do?"
    
      "Oh, sugar. I thought you'd never ask," she breathed sweetly, "C'mere. I have a surprise for you."
    
      "Do you now?"
    
      I grinned, picked her up, and carried her to the bedroom, just like old times. Rachelle's "surprise" pretty much wore me out an hour or so later, and we fell into each other's arms, each snug as a bug under the covers.
    
    ===============================================================================
      FEBRUARY MIRAGE
    ===============================================================================
    
      "Thanks Stanley," a squeaky soprano sang through the house. "You're such a dear."
    
      "Ugh. Do me a favor," I said glibly, "and never call me that again."
    
      "And why not?" Phillipa set her empty glass down, then tilted her head to face me. "It sounds classy!"
    
      "It sounds like we're married," I kidded her gently and shot her wry grin. "You're always free to run the gauntlet and be wife number seven though."
    
      "No thanks!" She became coy. "After your horror stories, I'm just happy you can spare time for me. Besides, didn't California just ban same-sex marriage?"
    
      "Ha-hah." I grew uneasy at her joke.
    
      Phillipa's chromosomes said she was male, but she appeared to be anything but. She stretched herself out on the fur rug, her alabaster skin blending in with the white fur. I wanted to believe she was invisible, but since I could see the pink soles of her feet, the shadow of her ass crack, and that fiery mane of orange-red hair, I knew she wasn't engaging in any trickery. Her skin was just that white and pale.
    
      The red-head saw me staring at her and turned over, her gorgeous figure tantalizing me. She beckoned sweetly with one finger while smiling like a shy girl. Her pink nipples were erect from the fun we'd just had, and now, she was begging for more. I deliberated for a moment before I succumbed to my lust, and crawled to her side.
    
      Damn, I was a monster.
    
      At the time, Anthony's incident with Jillian hadn't happened yet, nor did I think Andrew would get himself into so much trouble, so I had few qualms about screwing around. Despite breaking off my affair with Rosalind, I was fascinated with Mirage since our intimate encounter on the cruise liner. An added plus was that I could let my guard down and relax; I didn't have to monitor my conversation or hide my activities as both a mind-reader and an NSA operative.
    
      And as luck would have it, she didn't mind. In fact, she made the next move. Spring Break had barely arrived when Phillipa called me. She was coming to San Francisco for the summer to scout some graduate schools in and around the city, and was wondering if I could show her around.
    
      "You know," she breathed softly, "like last time."
    
      Of course, the last time I "showed" Phillipa anything, it was my cock right before I proceeded to violate every available hole in her body. I took great pride when I broke her in.
    
      Well, not quite; I suspected I had sloppy seconds. Phillipa had problems with male on female copulation, and I was just the right mix of cock size, experience, and unfettered horniness to satisfy her desires. Her voice brought a smile to my face; I reminisced briefly over our time together.
    
      "Sure, no problem," I answered, then kicked myself for being a horny rat-bastard.
    
      From a practical point of view, Phillipa Roget was quite simply the perfect mistress: she was tall, shapely, beautiful, young, and could never get pregnant. Additionally, I didn't have to hide who I was, or what I did. It was like I had won the grand prize from a sex lottery.
    
      Still, I was careful. When I met Tseng for our annual Lunar New Year's chat, I thought of everything and everyone except for the slender red-head. I had reason to be cautious, given her closeness to my calculating mentor. I was completely on edge the whole time, and did my best to reply normally. Fortunately, Tseng didn't ask about Phillipa, or steer the conversation her way. We covered the same topic we have every year: the well-being of Melanie and Viktoriya.
    
      When Phillipa finally arrived, I knew where I could go for some private time: Red Rock.
    
      It took a lot of money, and I had to do some of the work myself, but the house at Red Rock was mostly ready for habitation a month or so after the family's holiday in Hawaii. Some of the interior hadn't been finished (Gracia was still being picky), but the pier had been in place since last year. This meant workmen and I could take materials to the island and finish the job.
    
      Now I intended to use it, if only for a quick fuck. The Department of Defense story was pretty much my established cover, so no one questioned me when I took off for a day or two. To stave off my lie being picked up, I only told my 'normal' wives: Janet, Shawn, Jamie, and Rachelle, then let them spread the news I wasn't going to be around for a bit.
    
      So far, so good. Next, I chartered a small boat and, paying in cash, took Phillipa to Red Rock along with some food and supplies. The excitement of being alone with her on an island got my juices flowing. I jumped the red-head in mid-tour of the upper floor, and again once we were downstairs in the half-finished kitchen.
    
      We refreshed ourselves with some juice. I was still tired though. Having just spunked twice in the past hour, I was ready for a quick nap. The young woman though, had only just gotten started.
    
      "Damn dude." A feral smile crossed her face. "You practically raped me upstairs."
    
      "Yeah right." I kissed her breasts. "You were screaming you wanted more."
    
      "That was because you buzzed my mind near the end." Phillipa yawned and stretched. "God, you're good."
    
      "Glad to hear it," I said between kisses, "'cause I'm wiped out."
    
      "Really?" She laughed when she saw my expression. "You don't seem like you are."
    
      "Believe it or not, I'm tired." I contented myself with rubbing her body.
    
      "You just need a little pick me up." Phillipa slid between my legs.
    
      The slim red-head kissed the insides of my thigh, then began working her way up towards my groin. I glanced down and watched as she nibbled my cock and tenderly kissed my nut sack. I became more relaxed around Phillipa than even my dearest Viktoriya, with whom I shared similar powers, but who wasn't totally privy to the things I had done.
    
      Propping myself up with a pillow, I watched as Phillipa held my fuck wand between her slender fingers. Her wet, smooth tongue flicked lightly over the sides of my dick. Her green eyes sparkled mischievously as her tongue danced slowly towards the tip of my cock. I practically licked my lips as I felt Phillipa tickle the sweet spot on the underside of the tip. My body tensed up as she pressed her lips to the side of the head. When she ran her tongue along the crown of the glans, I couldn't hold back.
    
      "Uhng-shit! God!!" I ejaculated verbally and otherwise. "Fuck, yeah. Oh, fuck yea. Fuck yeah."
    
      So much for not enjoying blowjobs, I thought wryly. Phillipa won me over with her willingness to receive what filthy thoughts I had. Unfettered by anything save the danger of frying her synapses, I simply fed out my sickest and immediate desires, and she'd pick up on them instantly, knowing it was what I wanted. Of course, this was all mutual...
    
      Phillipa continued to tease and tickle my throbbing cock as I drained my balls of fluid. She milked me slowly with her palms and fingers, coaxing the last drops out of my cock before she eagerly swallowed my deflating dick. I groaned, reached down, and held her head while I ground myself against her face. When I had spent myself at last, I lay back, exhausted. However, the slender ginger doll had other plans as she got up and pulled me to the shower.
    
      Using desalinization and distillation tanks and the local sea water, the house's showers had an unlimited supply of water when a lower salinity setting was used (while clean, the water would taste saltier than usual). She set the shower's faucet to that setting now. The weather was abnormally hot and the room-temperature water was a welcome relief. Our bodies drenched under an endless spray of water, Phillipa and I scrubbed ourselves clean.
    
      "Oooh look." She giggled and grabbed my privates, "I think I see something!"
    
      "Are you sure?" I wore a lewd grin. "Why don't you get me on-site confirmation?"
    
      Phillipa matched my grin and knelt down. We locked eyes as she kissed my prick. I spread my legs slightly so she could reach under and cup my balls. The red-head experimented slowly, taking her time to poke, prod, and pet my penis. I was content with just this sort of light play for now, as I was sure I wouldn't have much to offer my other darlings that night -- or even the next day.
    
      At the thought of my wives, I caught myself quickly as I watched the young woman suck my dick. I'd better watch what I think or say, I thought, lest Vika or Yu-Ching catch me in a lie and cut my balls off.
    
      Thoughts of my women's group quickly dissipated as Phillipa slowly hilt her face on my cock. That was pretty easy for her to do; I was only average, and she certainly had a huge head. In fact, it was the size of my dick that let me slip into her without much problem. Anything larger would've made her uncomfortable. I heard her gargle and cough as my dick inflated in size. She pulled me out, leaving white bubbles of spit on my veiny shaft.
    
      "Too much?" I teased her, "For a big n' tall girl, you sure got small openings."
    
      "Shut up you," Phillipa growled and bared her wicked set of pearly white teeth.
    
      'Dare you.' I winked as she blinked in astonishment from my mental broadcast.
    
      "Are you sure?" she asked meekly, "Won't it hurt?"
    
      'I'll let you know.' I stroked her cheeks gently and added with audible speech: "Just go for it."
    
      "Oh, okay," Phillipa said nervously, "If you're sure about it."
    
      She bit me gently at first. It was so gentle, one could hardly call it a bite. Nips were more like it -- just like the ones I'd give to the kids when they were misbehaving (and before they could talk). Phillipa followed every nip with a quick kiss on the same spot, but it was hardly worth her effort. I encouraged her to take progressively harder and harder bites until ...
    
      "Aaah," I grunted with delight.
    
      "Did I hurt you?" She looked up with concern.
    
      "No," I whispered hoarsely and bade her to continue. "Keep doing that. It feels damn good."
    
      "Oh, okay." Phillipa bit down again. This time, I shuddered and threatened to cum yet again.
    
      "Oh yeah. Oh yeah, you do that."
    
      I watched with fascination as she methodically masturbated me. She rubbed the tip of my cock with her slender fingers as she took my balls into her mouth. I twitched with delight as I felt her gently clamp down on each testicle. Her eyes watched me intently, studying me, my face; between my body language and the trickle of filthy thoughts I was broadcasting, the ginger-haired girl pretty much knew what I wanted.
    
      "You want some more love bites, don't you?" she asked as a grin spread over her lovely face.
    
      "Am I that obvious?" I smiled.
    
      "Maybe later," Phillipa teased. "If you're good to me. I want to soak up some more California sun, and you're going to help me."
    
      The two of us stepped out from the shower and toweled dry. We headed to the solar lounge, and Phillipa lay down on a beach towel.
    
      "Here Stanley," she said and popped open a bottle of suntan lotion, "Make like your codename and oil me up."
    
      "I don't get it."
    
      "Oh, never mind," she sighed.
    
      "This is for tanning?" I asked as I fingered the clear oil between my fingers, "Isn't it a bit -- clear?"
    
      "I guess." Phillipa shrugged, "It says SPF-50."
    
      "I forgot to tell you," I became apologetic as I knelt beside her, "These windows might be UV-proof."
    
      "You mean I won't get a tan?" she sounded annoyed.
    
      "I'm not sure." I knitted my brow and tried to remember. "I'd have to look at the specs."
    
      "That's okay." Phillipa yawned as her voice drifted off, "It's so nice and warm right now ..."
    
      I put my hands together to warm them. Her back was a lean, sinewy showcase. Only Viktoriya had a back that equalled Phillipa's, but my lovely brunette's body was starting to feel a little soft, despite her strenuous daily routine. I pushed the gloomy thought out of my mind and concentrated on the exquisite beauty in front of me.
    
      The ginger girl groaned as I pressed my fingers hard into her flesh. As I ran my hands down her body, her skin reddened slightly from where my fingers had been. Working my way back up, I smoothed those unsightly blemishes with the heels of my hands.
    
      She let out a pent-up breath, and I could sense she was becoming aroused. I worked over her shoulders and back, savoring the smells of the fragrant oil and her skin. As I worked my way lower and lower, I could barely contain myself and decided to push things a little further.
    
      Phillipa sighed absently as I began massaging that sweet ass of hers. Seeing her pale skin redden as I slapped, cajoled, and molested her, I decided to experiment. The girl seemed asleep when I poured oil down her ass crack.
    
      Perfect. I began my attack by placing a tender kiss on the small of her back, just above the top of her crack. The girl sighed again but hardly responded. She gasped aloud though, when I pressed my face between her cheeks and flicked her asshole with my tongue.
    
      "Holy -- what the --? Stanley!!" Phillipa cried out in alarm.
    
      I ignored her protests about hygiene and ran over the rim of her puckered hole with the tip of my tongue. I wasn't stupid -- I wasn't going to penetrate her backdoor. Not with my tongue, and definitely not without protection. But just teasing the edge of her shithole was enough of a new sensation.
    
      I could sense her fear and excitement as I alternately licked and kissed the soft spots around her anus. Her whole body trembled when I substituted my tongue with my thumb. Phillipa said little as I gently pressed against her asshole; I was doing it gently and with a little discretion.
    
      If I pressed too far, there would be one helluva mess to clean up. While I teased her with one hand, I began running kisses and licks down the backs of her thighs. The red-head shivered as I ran an oil-slick thumb over her asshole.
    
      Now I readied the coup-de-grace. I focused my telekinesis to take over for my thumb; her anus crowned inward from the invisible pressure I was leveraging even as I began massaging her legs. I tightened my grip over the backs of her thighs and calves and twiddled the telekinetic "bulb" on her shit-ring until she came.
    
      "Oh wow, jeez." Phillipa breathed, "Th'hell was that?"
    
      "Feel good, baby?" I chuckled as I propped myself over her.
    
      "Yeah." She flipped around and studied me. "You -- you didn't just tongue my ass, did you?"
    
      "No," I half-lied, "But it sure felt like, didn't it?"
    
      Phillipa blushed and gave me a wry grin. "You tricked me."
    
      "So what if I did?" I grinned back. "I thought you wanted it."
    
      "I--I did, but that was just a passing thought." Her eyes grew wide. "You sick fuck. You were reading my mind."
    
      My grin only grew wider. "Did it feel nice?"
    
      "You know it did," she murmured shyly.
    
      "Good. So, how 'bout your front?" I eyed her hungrily. "Want me to do that, too?"
    
      "Oh God, yes." Phillipa gave me a mischievous grin. "Please!!"
    
      And I did. After coating the rest of her body with oil, I worked over her shoulders, tits, stomach, and legs. By the time the sun was setting, my balls were aching for release, and Phillipa didn't disappoint.
    
      She emptied the oil bottle to lubricate her tight little cunt before she impaled herself on my rock-hard fuck stick. I slaked my lust on her eager, limber body. The oil made her insides slick and super-slippery, and it was one of the tightest and most pleasurable cunt cruises I ever had.
    
      "Ungh--fuck yeah," I hissed, "I'm cummin', cummin' now."
    
      "Pull out," she begged, "Pull it out and spray me! I want to know how it feels."
    
      I barely managed to pull out when that familiar feeling washed over me. The initial spray splashed against her swollen, bare cunt. Phillipa was breathing rapidly as my balls emptied their contents. My cock was still hard though, so I stuck it right back in, much to my delight.
    
      "Geeeeeez," she winced from the renewed intrusion. Her eyes widened as I began to pummel her again. "Again?"
    
      I covered her mouth with my own before she could protest further. The red-head, unable to get her point across verbally, whined incoherently as she shimmered like a chameleon. I drew back just enough so she could speak; the little rascal bit my nose instead. I grinned and nuzzled her neck so fiercely she cried out for me to stop. Despite that, I didn't stop until I shot off again, this time, inside her.
    
      "Goddammit Stanley!!" Phillipa wriggled out from under me and zipped to the shower, "I can't believe you spunked in me again!"
    
      The next day, I drove her down to Palo Alto where she met up with a couple who taught at Stanford -- friends of her aunt, Phillipa claimed. I was wondering what, if any, was her plan, but she seemed content to enjoy herself. Despite my anxiousness to go back home, I stayed with her until after dinner.
    
      This was due to two things: one, I wanted to know who these people were; and two, I wanted to defile Mirage once more before I left. The next I'd see her would likely see the two of us on assignment with NSA-PSI, and there'd be precious little chance of the two of us messing around.
    
      I found out the couple were indeed who they were. Phillipa's Aunt Susan had steered her academic career, and now Susan's friends were to try and persuade the young woman into continuing her studies in journalism or something along those lines. The couple didn't think too much of Phillipa bringing her "friend" along. I simply kept quiet, acted modestly, and scanned them.
    
      By simply thinking about what she wanted to say, Phillipa could have a private conversation with me where I used thought-speech and mind-reading. In a way, it was like what Viktoriya and I did, but I had to do the sending and receiving, so it distracted me from probing anyone else if I wanted to have a mind-chat.
    
      At one point in the evening, the red-head finally gathered why I was staying, but she didn't mind, although she did tacitly "warn" me not to ejaculate in her again. I found that while she could never become pregnant, Phillipa didn't like it when I shot my gunk inside of her.
    
      Aside from the time she needed to clean herself out, she didn't want cum dribbling out later, ruining her clothes, soiling her panties, or -- in the hours right after she was picked up by Susan from the New York harbor last year -- running down her thigh when she wore a skirt or dress in public.
    
      'You're so damn lucky my aunt isn't a hard-assed Catholic like the nuns at the orphanage, Stanley!'
    
      'Er, sorry, baby?' I turned my attention to Phillipa, and in doing so, had to decrease my focus on the couple across the table.
    
      'She thought it was lube from a vibrator, so she gave me a wet wipe and told me to be more careful in the future.'
    
      I picked up the rest of her thoughts as I reflected on my own unabashed horniness. I knew she was also thinking about punching me in the balls if I did that to her again without warning her, or cleaning her out. I humored Phillipa with thoughts about using a novelty Q-tip, but she found it quite unfunny.
    
      'How about I stick a straw in and slurp the stuff up instead?' I thought-spoke.
    
      Gross. That was Phillipa's first thought. Then, as her mind began picturing me doing that, she was shocked at the level of my perversion. Finally, I mentally dared her to punch me in the balls anyway -- the pain she'd inflict on me was likely nothing after the five fucks I gave her at Red Rock. My nuts were pretty damn sore, and the prime reason I was so quiet at the table.
    
      Now _that_ made the young woman stifle a giggle. The couple wondered what was so funny, as some serious business was being discussed at the time. No matter. I nudged the topic (and the mood) back on track as the red-head composed herself. Unfortunately, we didn't get much time alone. Since Phillipa was staying as a guest with Susan's friends, and I had to go back home. I bid them all a good night and settled for a demure peck on Mirage's cheek.
    
    ===============================================================================
      SPRING FEVER
    ===============================================================================
    
      Andrew's overseas assignment wasn't the only problem I had to deal with. Soon after Phillipa's surprise visit, I was faced with another potential threat to the family peace. The cause of my frustration was Melanie's brother, Anthony, or as he's better known as: Yu-Wah or Wah-jai*. [* Cantonese: Equivalent of 'Sonny' or 'Junior' but specific to an individual]
    
      At the time, he was in his junior year of college, and sailing through his classes with an ease that made even my First green with envy. There was no doubt that Anthony was a bright boy, but one day, he took things a little too far with Jillian and one of her friends.
    
      Let me go back just a bit: one of Jillian's school chums, Jessica Ga, lived just around the corner of our block. In fact, anyone looking out the windows in our building's west side (the units belonging to Shawn, Jamie, me, and Viktoriya) could see the Ga family's home.
    
      Being quite a bit older than her siblings, Jillian found she had more fun with others her age. Young Jessica fit my stepdaughter's wants to a "T". The two hit it off at the elementary school, and stayed friends when they entered middle school -- the same year Viktoriya left for New York ('06).
    
      Naturally, I was so preoccupied, I took little notice of Jillian's new "BFF" (best friend forever) until Viktoriya came back. By then, Jessica had grown a bit and possessed a body of a girl who was a bit older, although she and Jillian still hung out (we are talking about eighth-graders here).
    
      After I introduced myself to Jessica as Jillian's father, my dusky Russkie surprised me by boasting how she knew more about the middle-schooler than I did; I had a nagging feeling Viktoriya was checking out Jessica and deciding whether or not to dyke grind one of the girl's female relatives.
    
      My vixen from the Volga had come up to drop off a sweater she had borrowed from Jamie, and I used the chance to invite her in for a quick bite to eat. While I readied dinner and conducted mind-chat with Vika, the two kids were playing with their Nintendo DS Lites in the living room (it was practically the only videogame system Jamie allowed her daughters to play).
    
      Viktoriya had her soup and bread, then headed out to teach her class. She gave me a not so gentle telekinetic nudge as she left Jamie's place.
    
      'Stanislav, you have a one-track mind.'
    
      'Yes, and the train's derailed. But am I right, lyubimy?'
    
      As she rode the lift down to the garage, Viktoriya stood in a spot so I could make out her reflection in the lift's vanity mirror.
    
      'Very funny, old man!' She stuck out her tongue deliberately so I could see her beautiful face through mind-sight. She then gave me a devilish smile that made me groan inwardly.
    
      'Please don't do anything crazy.' I reflexively broadcasted.
    
      'No, rodnoi. Not me. Never.' She teased her reply with giddy mirth that made my heart skip a beat.
    
      Viktoriya deliberately winked in the mirror as she stepped off the lift. 'But I think one of her cousins is about Melanie's age and size.'
    
      'Oh boy.'
    
      I gave up trying to dissuade her, but then I knew I could count on her to be careful. My Cossack cutie understood the unwritten rules about the empire; she was simply careful by nature. Anthony though, wasn't, and he made his move when I least expected it.
    
      Jamie was busy setting up a new network for her company, hence she was coming home late. However, she allowed Jillian to invite Jessica to come by when it suited the two; this was after the two of us met Jessica and her parents. My Asian angel surprised Mrs. Ga, who was older than Janet, with her relative youth, and I found Jessica's family was fairly pleasant and -- more importantly -- had nothing special. No agency ties, no gifted individuals. They were 'normals'.
    
      With Jessica coming over so often, I had been staying at Jamie's place to fulfill my role as her father. While "Aunt Melanie" was always convenient (not to mention the rest of the women in the building), it was hard to explain why there'd be a different adult checking on Jillian each time; so to keep things normal, I had to be there, which suited me fine.
    
      On that particular day though, I had to stay at the office a little later than usual (projects I can bring home, but I couldn't skip meetings). Normally, Laura would've lent a hand, but she was busy with Jules that day (more on that later). My pumpkin was with me (it was a meeting with the Delancey Project people).
    
      Rachelle wasn't available, since she needed nearly an hour to weave through the traffic home from LucasArts. Likewise, Janet had other clients to meet with before a dinner with people from her health insurance case. And Viktoriya had to leave to teach her private students in the evening. So, that left Melanie to deal with the children.
    
      Since Little Chen needed to pick up the younger kids, she thought to ask her brother to check on Jillian. Anthony obliged and showed up almost uninvited. Jillian greeted her "Uncle Tony" and let him in, and passed him off as a relative. At that point, things got a inappropriate; from what I could piece together through thought-mining, I formed what I believed to be an accurate account of what happened:
    
      Jillian and her friend Jessica were done with their homework, and they were nearly bored from talking about boys, clothes, and make-up. They were also done giggling over fake nudes of the Twilight cast. Jillian was busy erasing their Internet history and re-activating Net-nanny so Jamie wouldn't find out about her web forays. My stepdaughter was a bright little bulb.
    
      Since she was little, Jillian dimly remembered a time when she called me "Uncle Stanley" instead of just "daddy." It happened around Father's Day, 2001; my stepdaughter was looking at me curiously when I visited Jamie. When Jill shuffled up to me with a small gift in her hand, I picked on what Jamie had done: she had explained to her daughter that I was her father.
    
      Of course, that didn't jive with reality. Besides, Jill also remembered her mother dressing up before going out to "work". As she got older, Jillian suspected that her mother had done some "bad" things and gotten into "trouble". It was all still a mystery to her since Jamie and I didn't talk about it. However, nothing really could explain why Jillian had Eurasian features like the twins, Kady, and Milhail, while her own sister Jenny was like our other homogeneous Chinese children.
    
      So, a few days after Jillian experienced her menarche, Jamie felt it was time to tell her daughter the truth after having the "sex-talk" with her. Jill fidgeted endlessly as her mother did her best to explain things. I just sat there and did my best to appear serious. I was simply relieved we hadn't taken up Viktoriya's "recommendation" to show Jillian a couples' porn movie instead.
    
      "It would be a lot faster," Jamie said, "But I don't think she's thinking about that yet. Heck, I don't even want to give her ideas!"
    
      Viktoriya nodded outwardly, but inwardly, I could hear her thoughts: 'What is this thinking? Does she think Jill and Jen will stay children forever?!'
    
      I could only smile, sigh mentally, and broadcasted to my Cossack cutie to respect Jamie's wishes. Viktoriya was miffed, and steered clear of us for a few days, choosing to focus her attentions on her students and Milhail instead.
    
      Immediately after the sex-ed chat, it was my turn to speak. Jamie noticeably tensed as I fed Jillian a highly sanitized version of how we met all those years ago in Las Vegas. Fortunately, Jill was a confidant young lady, and wasn't traumatized by her parentage. Unfortunately, during my stay, I made the mistake of explaining to her that the "fireman's pole" in Jamie's condo was, in actuality, a dancer's pole.
    
      "You mean like Mommy Vika?" My daughter beamed brightly while I kicked myself for having such a big mouth.
    
      "Yes. Kinda like that."
    
      I breathed an inward sigh of relief; Viktoriya had seen Jamie's pole when the condo was being built, and requested a similar one for her own use at her place. Luckily for me, my Slavic siren was open about her affinity for dance and movement studies, so the kids understood where the pole could come from. This explanation though, also put some misconstrued ideas in Jillian's innocent little head.
    
      "Hey, you wanna play with my mom's pole outside?" Jillian nudged her buddy.
    
      "I guess so." Jessica was indifferent. "I thought we were gonna watch TV. And I thought you said you got a Shiny!!"
    
      [** Author's Note: A Shiny refers to "shiny pokemon", a variant of the same creature but with a shiny, glossy, sheen. Considered a collectible in some circles.]
    
      "Maybe later. My mom hid my game again until our tests are done, so I'll get it to you then."
    
      "That's like, next week!" Jessica blurted.
    
      "Yeah." Jillian shrugged. "But it won't matter much anyway. My dad will want me to help him cook when he come back, so we might as well goof off now."
    
      "Oh, all right," the other girl relented.
    
      The two girls headed out into living room where Jamie's pole stood in the corner. Like the one at Viktoriya's, it had plenty of room for someone to twirl around. To hide any suspicion that the darn thing was anything _but_ a dancing pole, Jamie stored her exercise gear nearby. She only moved the stuff out of the way when she used the pole -- which was becoming less often as Jillian became older.
    
      That was probably why Jamie and Viktoriya were so close, because Jay began using the pole in my Russian bride's condo instead. The bisexual brunette was practically dancing on cloud nine over Jamie's voluntary excursions. Viktoriya also didn't hide the fact she could pole-dance as well as any stripper (something that would no doubt cause Milhail embarrassment when he'd get older).
    
      The two girls managed to push the machines and stuff out of the way so they could access the pole. At first they climbed the thing like it was a rope in gym class, but after a while, they were having a ball just twirling around like kids in a schoolyard; they were like daredevil cyclists racing inside a metal sphere, except they were whirling around a Maypole until they got dizzy and sick. Jillian was on the ground, nauseated, excited, and laughing hysterically as Jessica spun 'round and 'round when Anthony knocked.
    
      Wah-jai found it strange that the girls had a strip-club pole in Jamie's condo. When he visited, it was to see his sister, Melanie, as none of my other darlings ever knew him well enough to invite him into their units. With the girls still giddy from their fun, he decided to up their "fun" factor by using a marshmallow gun (someone had left theirs at Jamie's) and trying to aim his shots into their mouths as they spun around.
    
      Then he crossed the line. Anthony asked each girl to sit in his lap so he could be their "turret pilot" while the girl was the "gunner", aiming marshmallows at the second girl twirling around the pole. All this physical exertion and horseplay made the teens sleepy, run down, and -- most importantly -- sweaty. And it was the sweet smell of young teenagers that got Anthony excited.
    
      He just couldn't help himself as he lay down with both Jillian and Jessica in the living room sofa, his arms curled around their bodies and his palms on their underaged asses. My sleazebag brother-in-law still had a smile on his face and a cock bulging under his trousers when I came home. He couldn't rouse himself fast enough to cover his tracks, nor could he really lie to my face.
    
      I asked him to stay for dinner so I could dig into him a little more, but the little bastard declined. I physically caught him by the shoulders outside the condo and instantly knew what he'd been thinking. Somehow, Yu-Wah knew it too. He and I had it out outside while Jillian supervised Jessica in the kitchen to pre-boil a pot of broth and wash some veggies. Making dinner together was something Jill and I had done since we first met.
    
      "What the hell were you doing in there?" I hissed at him.
    
      "It's cool, Keurng-guo* [* Cantonese: Brother Keurng]," Anthony babbled, thinking I was worried about the polygamy being discovered. "Jill's friend thinks I'm just an uncle."
    
      "It's not that." I held him tightly by the arm. "What were you doing with the girls in the room?"
    
      Melanie's brother winced; he'd heard rumors about my unnatural strength. He had also heard about my bad temper (most likely from his sister Yu-Ching, who put up with much of it) and he was keen to avoid it.
    
      "Nothing! I swear! Nothing happened!" Anthony was getting loud, so I hauled him around the corner and into the stairs.
    
      "Do not bullshit me, Tony," I growled. "That's the same line Boy Scout leaders and Catholic priests use."
    
      "But that's the truth!"
    
      "You want to lie?! That's fine!" I was positively livid. My voice though, was cold as ice.
    
      "Wak-jie lei-ge jie-jie yieu-teang-ha lei-ge kgoo-jaei*." [* Cantonese: Maybe your sister would like to hear about your story.]
    
      "Please don't!" Little Chen's brother swallowed hard, his eyes wide. "She wouldn't like it."
    
      "You're damn right she won't," I seethed. "Neither will Jamie. You know what they'll do to you if this gets out?"
    
      Wah-jai was trembling, blubbering, and coming to pieces as I roughed him up. The two of us were on the landing between floors, mostly out of sight from the floor above. I was fortunate Melanie hadn't come back yet, so the two of us weren't seen scuffling in the hallway. As Anthony crumpled to the floor whimpering, I heard him protesting weakly.
    
      "But Keurng-guo, y--you were seeing Ching-jie when you were my age!"
    
      I hauled the little ratbag up by the belt, half-expecting that accusation. It was true: I had done something similar with Melanie, although when I met her, she and I were both children. However, I hadn't taken interest in Yu-Ching because I found her sexually attractive, but rather for her most curious gifts. Our love came to us later, when we both had grown.
    
      And age aside, there were still boundaries of family one shouldn't cross. Anthony's case goaded me, especially since Jillian was his niece through marriage. To me, that relationship, coupled with the age thing, made it unwholesome.
    
      "Don't you dare compare yourself to me," I growled at him unkindly.
    
      Yu-Wah whimpered as I continued to menace him. "Please stop! I -- I won't do it again!! I swear."
    
      "You're damn right you're not. If I ever see or hear that you're alone with Jillian again --" Through passive mind-sight, I could see through Anthony's eyes that my face had twisted into a vicious snarl, "-- I swear that what I do to you will be _nothing_ compared to what the women will do."
    
      The weasel nodded quickly and slipped back into his sister's condo without looking back. Knowing how protective Melanie was, I was sure she would be reliable in carrying out my bluff. As for Jamie, that illegal .32 Beretta of hers was still somewhere in her condo. I was dizzy with rage, caught off guard that something like this could happen under my nose. And I was sure that if Jamie found out, she and Melanie would have a bad, bad falling out.
    
      I had to do something. An adult man trying to bed an underage neighbor girl was already a scandal in the making; that he'd try to sexually molest his equally underage niece as well was too much for me. All of that would make sensational headlines if news of it got out.
    
      So, what to do? I stewed over my options for a few days while I looked after Jillian (Jenny was staying with Shawn and Kady in the interim). Just plotting weighed heavily on my mind; I had not taken such heavy handed action against a family member since that business with Shawn's father some years back.
    
      There was a difference too: George Horten had already done his dirty deed, but Anthony hadn't. It simply his word against mine. The only one who'd believe me would be Viktoriya, and that meant I had to expose my plans to my Russian lover.
    
      Believe it or not, that would've been the easy part. The hard part would be getting her to believe me, or even to even agree with such strong-armed tactics. And with Melanie's ability to hear things, this mess could get messier if she realized what I intended to do.
    
      When I thought I was at the end of my rope, it was Viktoriya who came to my rescue. By now, if I didn't want her to know anything, I'd consciously "forget" something, only to recall it later with a pre-determined symbol or icon I'd have on a post-it note tacked on my bedroom closet's door. The icons were meaningless to anyone except me. This let me keep secrets that may prove threatening or dangerous from my Russian darling's occasional mental probing.
    
      However, Anthony's problem was something so immediate and concerning, she picked it up before I had a chance to file it away, or think of anything more detailed than an intention to beat the living shit out of Yu-Ching's brother. That, or have him meet with an "accident" near San Francisco State. 19th Avenue and Holloway was a busy intersection, and fatal accidents were not unknown ...
    
      'Stanislav, that's awful!'
    
      She communicated with me in our silent tongue while the two of us were having dinner at Jamie's. With Jillian's friend gone, Viktoriya brought Milhail upstairs so we could have a quiet evening together.
    
      'Tell me about it. I don't know what to do.'
    
      I ate silently as I snuck a glance at my son. Milhail was surprisingly well behaved when his half-brother, Michael, wasn't trying to lead him into trouble. Jillian in the meantime, was pestering Viktoriya about how-to do this-and-that motion she saw on "So You Think You Can Dance?" or some other pop-show. This so she would not look foolish at her upcoming school dance. My dance-loving darling answered her step-daughter verbally as we continued our mental meeting.
    
      'But honestly, Stanislav, if Anthony was one of us, would you care?'
    
      'This is Jillian we're talking about.' I thought-spoke sternly. 'Don't joke about that.'
    
      'Well, I ask hypothetically.' Viktoriya audibly scolded our son in Russian when he began turning around in his seat to watch the television.
    
      'And if someone like Cristobel or Freya tried something similar with Milhail?' I pinged back.
    
      My Baltic beauty wrinkled her nose at the suggestion. 'Point taken, dorogoi. Although neither of them are like that!'
    
      'Fair enough. But I didn't think Anthony was like that either.' I turned my attention to Milhail and asked aloud, "You want to watch TV and eat?"
    
      "Yes sir," he mumbled and snuck a look at his birth-mother. "Can I?"
    
      'You spoil him too much.' Viktoriya thought-spoke with disapproval, but kept her expression nonchalant. "You may, if your father agrees."
    
      "Okay buddy." I nodded and got out of my seat. "But at the table. Switch seats with me. I don't need you making a mess in the living room."
    
      Milhail positively bailed out of his seat, eager to switch sides. Now he could see the TV, and I could be next to Viktoriya.
    
      "Daaaaa-aaaad!!" Jillian whined, "Now, you're in my way!"
    
      "Don't you wish I could turn invisible?" I flashed her a tepid grin.
    
      My daughter frowned unhappily as my Mirage joke fell flat. Thankfully, Viktoriya picked up on none of it. She was still excited over her new teaching studio. In an effort to help my dance-loving wife, I rented a stall in a shopping complex on Masonic, near where my weapons locker was.
    
      This would let Viktoriya teach her students in the afternoons and evenings. Parking was ample, and she'd drive my car so she'd commute to and from work, just like a 'normal' person. As proud as I was of her new success, I brooded over my current problem and motioned to my two kids to rotate the table a bit.
    
      'Honestly, sweetheart.' I continued my private conference. 'I'm at a loss about Tony. I don't want to break this to Melanie, and it would be his word against mine.'
    
      'Well I have an idea.' My brunette lovely pinged back. 'What are Anton's plans for the next few days?'
    
      'Why do you ask? What do you have in mind?'
    
      Viktoriya proposed a simple plan: 'Well, there's a daughter of one of my students. She is flirty with all the boys in the class, but I know she's single.'
    
      'A set-up?' My thoughts became wry. 'Oh. You were thinking about seducing her, weren't you?'
    
      'Yes.' She flashed me a grin to mask our 'normal' conversation (both of us were making autonomic responses to Jillian and Milhail) and she tenderly grasped my hand on the tabletop. 'But that got me thinking. She is about Tony's age.'
    
      'You mean set them up?' I thought the obvious.
    
      'Of course! He can play with someone his own age, and that'll be that!'
    
      'That sounds like it could work, Vika.'
    
      'Well, it better!' She passed me a curious glance as she audibly chided me for spoiling Milhail. 'Otherwise, what else can be done? It would be awful if we needed to gather evidence first, no?'
    
      I knitted my brow at her turn of thought, but she paid me no heed and went on. 'And besides, it would break Melanie's heart, wouldn't it?'
    
      'Yes, it would.' I thought-spoke. 'Thank you, Vika.'
    
      'You are most welcome, Stanislav.'
    
      If she was surprised I became so relieved, Viktoriya didn't let on. The two of us orchestrated the whole thing, but I had to let her do most of the foot-work, as I had alienated Yu-Wah with my outburst. It was just as well -- seeing how my Russian darling resolved this family spat provided keen insight into how she operated.
    
    ===============================================================================
      EVERY MOTHER'S DAY ...
    ===============================================================================
    
      Many people say that once a person is married, they fall into a "comfort zone" with their spouse. Their activity levels adjust to meet their partner's; that or the pair often compromise. This was one reason why married people got fat or thin together.
    
      While I was never one for physical activity that wasn't sex or having other fun with my darlings, I realized that as I grew older, I needed to stay fit (if not trim) if just to have a plausible excuse to exhibit my faux kung-fu (or as I sometimes referred to it: Jung-fu; little psych joke there).
    
      I wasn't an expert fighter, but I knew I could take down a skilled combatant easily. And it didn't matter what he trained in, or for how long. It didn't matter if he employed Brazilian jujitsu, Israeli krav maga, or Russian SAMBO (samozashchitya bez oruzhiya), proximity was their enemy. Once my attacker came into contact with me, his synapses would get fried.
    
      When I deployed my gifts in combat, I only did so with one purpose: to kill. By now, any reservations I had about holding back when I was threatened had gone. All those years doing the "odd job" had turned me into a no-nonsense realist, and the various tasks I'd done for the agency had dulled me to any sense of pity or compassion for strangers.
    
      That was why I was extremely grateful Viktoriya had intervened with Anthony when she did. I was going about it with a cold, calculating, ruthless approach that scared even me -- I was almost like Tseng.
    
      The thought of my mentor made me uneasy. The fact that he was not around as much now meant much of the daily burden of keeping track of upstart empire citizens was falling on my shoulders and taking up my valuable time. Luckily, Richard Herman (up in Eureka) and Darrell Carson (in Los Angeles) were able to take on some of the burden, despite their brevity as empire citizens.
    
      Although I didn't include Rick in my raids (he was too much of a risk, due to his penchant for smoking marijuana, although he knew quite well if he uttered a peep about me or the empire, he wouldn't live to see the next day), both he and Darrell performed to my satisfaction. Carrie-Ann Wilson (in Monterey) was only an empath, and she was happy with her cetacean research. Nonetheless, when she "felt" someone was psychically sensitive, she'd notify me. Between the four of us, we pretty much had the west side of California covered.
    
      "Hey." _smack_ "What's the matter?"
    
      "Sorry pumpkin," I groaned as I began my push-ups once more.
    
      Shawn's kiss was a friendly reminder I wasn't alone. Just as spring bloomed, my plump petunia came down with a bad case of hay fever. Her face puffed up and she could hardly breathe. I finally traced it to the massive bloom of pollen on the rooftop from one of Yu-Ching's new side projects. With Shawn's condo right below, there was no doubt what caused her allergy.
    
      Strangely, Melanie (like Janet, Jamie, and I) didn't get fazed much by pollen, although we were allergic to other things, like shellfish and (for Jamie) large amounts of roast duck (Jamie's allergy caused Melanie no small amount of guilt, although we later found Jamie could eat small amounts without breaking out).
    
      Viktoriya and Rachelle were more susceptible to dust and pollen, though not as much as Shawn. My doughty darling was getting so stuffed up, she moved in temporarily into the unit her mother had used while I made some calls to have a new filtration system installed in her condo. This though, didn't solve all her problems as the first-floor west unit was close to the front yard.
    
      The condo's front yard was half-paved and half-padded (recycled rubber from tires) but any vegetation there were weeds or dandelion puffs. Since I was young, I'd hated weeding my parents' yard so when I was building my home, I wanted as little vegetation as possible.
    
      Melanie could have her garden, but that frontyard was to be clear of as much plant life as possible. Still, there were the occasional weeds that sprung up, so Shawn had to keep her windows shut. With no other alternative apart from staying at Janet's (which didn't sit well with either woman for some reason), my doughty dumpling imprisoned herself inside first-floor west with a portable HEPA filter while workmen re-worked her condo.
    
      You'd figure being cooped up in condo and tele-commuting for a few days would be fun, but it wasn't. Shawn was lonely since her daughter and mother weren't around. Being bleary eyed and tired meant she wasn't up to the task of looking after anyone.
    
      Sweet, sanguine Jenny would be staying with Rachelle for a while so she could socialize with the twins. In the meantime, stubborn little Kady would be at Melanie's for a few days. I was positive the rambunctious four year-old was more than eager to teach Norman her own brand of mischief. As for Mother Benton, she was staying at Alamo Square ever since she started seeing Jules Fontana.
    
      Don't get me wrong; I was all right with the old man being a mentor to both Shawn and me. However, things definitely became more personal after Laura met the widower at the Green-Haus office. They didn't hit it off right away, but the occasional phone call, the little notes, and the nightly absences became increasingly prevalent until it was an open secret.
    
      I, of course, already sensed it fairly early when Fontana texted a message during a meeting to confirm a date with Laura. I wanted to ask him about it, but he'd made it a point to keep his nose out of my business, so I gave him the same courtesy. Shawn suspected nothing until the two lovebirds officially broke the news to us a few weeks before.
    
      Now it was all weird. Technically, Jules wouldn't be my father-in-law even if he married Laura, although I'd be remiss in my manners not to treat him as such.
    
      Regardless of how I saw him, Shawn would have a step-dad and little Kady would be right in calling him "gramps" if Jules and Laura got hitched. My pumpkin was pleasantly surprised at first, but then she began feeling a little betrayed, if not downright creeped out by how things turned out. So, to cheer her up, I decided to pay my darling dumpling a visit before dinner. Shawn was more than happy to see a familiar face, and began talking my ear off, especially about her mother's new boyfriend.
    
      "You know it's been a while," I said, "So, it's bound to happen sooner or later."
    
      "I know." She leveled a frown. "But of all people! Jules? Really?"
    
      "Would you have preferred it to be someone else, pumpkin?" I chided her gently.
    
      "I don't know." Shawn dimpled her pudgy cheeks, but I sensed her frustration, so I sought to comfort her.
    
      "Well, Jules is kinda like the office dad."
    
      As soon as I said that, my Anglo angel whined -- almost like saying, 'Eeeewww' -- but it was an incoherent noise only Shawn could make and sound adorable doing so. I chuckled and gave her a reassuring hug. To get her mind off things, I suggested she nap on me, so I could use her weight while I did some push-ups. She got comfortable once I began broadcasting a weak mental feed of mathematical problems I had mulled over with her when we were still students.
    
      From Shawn's point of view, these memories suddenly surfaced and she began heckling me about never having solved them. I took it all in stride, smiling wryly as she whispered how she could probably use Rachelle's henna kit to ink the solutions all over my body. At least my pretty petunia was out of her slump and feeling better.
    
      "Hey, I'm done," I announced as I lowered myself to the floor.
    
      The guest condo unit had grown more spartan as Laura began moving out. The place was covered in white dust sheets and the few sources of light were from Shawn's tablet, a work lamp that spotlit her easel, her desktop, and the room's soft LED glow. My Anglo angel had a small suitcase of clothes so she could change (anything more she needed, she got from her place while wearing a pollen mask). It was all very cozy.
    
      Shawn heard me, but she still didn't budge. Rather, she clung on and kissed the back of my neck again. I shivered reflexively from the attention she was giving me. I got the feeling that she was being aroused from my exertion. Her airways cleared after spending a few days in isolation, my Anglo angel was enjoying not only my company, but the scent of my body. I could feel her touch as her fingers crawled over my sides, arms, and shoulders.
    
      "Stanley?" she murmured, "Sweetie? D--do you wanna do it?"
    
      Her shyness, even after all these years, was always refreshing. I chuckled as I gave her a soft squeeze.
    
      "Sure, baby. C'mere."
    
      Shawn slid bashfully under me, her chubby cheeks pink from both embarrassment and excitement. I kissed her face lightly before I began nuzzling her in earnest. My bubble-bummed muffin sighed and lay herself out under me. Then, I got a wicked idea.
    
      This condo had been her mom's residence for the past few years, and it kinda felt like doing it in her parents' place. I had to be careful though -- Shawn had estranged herself from her father, and I didn't want to dredge up old hurt. But this was earnestly too good of an opportunity to pass up.
    
      "Hey, let's go to your place." Shawn's tug pulled me back to reality.
    
      "I got a better idea," I said and ushered her to the bedroom.
    
      "Wait! Here!?"
    
      "Why not?" I pulled her close so I could whisper, "Let's do it quick before your mom comes home."
    
      At that, Shawn blushed. While the locale was different, it _did_ seem like we were back in high school. I could feel her body heat rise as her gaze dipped to avoid mine. I stroked her chin and neck, then I lifted her blouse up, revealing those massive mammaries I'd grown to love. Shawn mewed as I began fondling her, softly flicking her nipples and gently tickling her tummy. I broadcast a thin stream of lust, but held back; with my doughty darling, I didn't need to do much persuading. Shawn Ellen was a natural when it came to sex.
    
      By now we had both tumbled onto the bed (Shawn slept on a futon near the filter and her work station, much like she did in Japan). I lifted up her breasts a bit and sniffed; although she hadn't exercised, she was a little sweaty just from her effort of staying on top of me when I was doing my push-ups. I nuzzled the underside of her boobage and topped her sensitive pink nips with loving licks and kisses.
    
      "Oh God, Stanley," Shawn gasped and grabbed me gently by the hair.
    
      I tweaked one nipple while I bit gently on the other. I wanted to go behind her now, if only to place my hand on her love button and buzz her. Lovemaking was usually not as complicated with Viktoriya; she'd buzz herself with telekinesis, or let me do her (same method) from any position. With my other darlings, I had to be more careful in deploying my gifts but the result was all the same: fan-fucking-tastic.
    
      When we finished, Shawn lay on top of me, exhausted and sleepy. I felt her soppy, wet hole twitch as my hard-on slowly softened inside her. Her boobs were pressed nicely against me, our bodies sticky with sweat from our amorous activity. I felt her warm drool on my chest as she nodded off; Shawn looked so damn cute, I fought the urge to pinch and cajole her as I usually did.
    
      Instead, I busied myself by planning out the rest of that night. Mother's Day was going to be tomorrow and unlike past years, my darlings voted unanimously to have one large gathering rather than individual celebrations throughout the week.
    
      Besides the time it took, things simply grew more complex over the years. With six mothers and even more grandmothers, we were practically killing ourselves keeping up the appearance of several nuclear families. And since the whole family pretty much gathered at my parents' house around Mother's Day (as the paternal grandmother, my mother was pretty much the final stop in festivities) we reasoned it was simpler to bite the bullet about the polygamy, at least in terms of certain celebrations.
    
      Aside from the stress and time involved, the nuclear family charade was also getting the younger kids confused, since they couldn't tell who among our family acquaintances was trust-worthy. Ultimately, we came clean with most of our parents, if only to cut down on the complications. We did it slowly and gently, and we didn't do this with everyone. For example, the Lychenkos lived nowhere near us, and Viktoriya and I were able to keep them out of our business most of the time. We'd have ample warning when they wanted to visit, so that wasn't much a problem.
    
      Things were different though, with the parents of Rachelle, Jamie, Janet, and Melanie, all whom lived in the city. Jamie's estrangement from her parents proved to be a blessing in disguise; they seemed to dote on their granddaughters, but paid almost no attention to their own daughter. Jay and I decided to leave them out of the loop. Actually, it was this lack of parental affection from Mrs. Young which prompted my own mother to start nagging me about, "looking more after Yeung Tse-Kei's* interests."
    
      [* Cantonese: Tse-Kei was Jamie's given name using Wade-Giles, but she and I never used it, chiefly because she never knew about it, let alone read or pronounce it. We only found out about Jamie's name when she found an old box of her things at her parents' and took it home. Melanie found the name inscribed on a jade bracelet made for Jamie when she was a newborn; Yu-Ching took it directly to my mother for safe-keeping and afterwards, began occasionally calling Jamie "Kei-jie" out of respect, while I got away with calling her "Kei-kei".]
    
      Jamie caught a little bit of it but didn't fully comprehend what was being said. For a short time, my Asian angel even thought my mother had complained about her, and sought desperately to mend a break that didn't exist. Luckily, Janet explained what had been said before things got out of hand. My first wife may have been the jealous type, but she was also very fair and earnest; Janet didn't take kindly to Jamie's parents or their treatment of their daughter.
    
      And as for Jamie, she became rather embarrassed being singled out for attention. She got along well with my mother, Aileen. Tse-Kei even began learning how to cook a bit of the traditional dishes when she joined Melanie and my mother in the kitchen when everyone could spare a weekend. The downside was that Kei-kei picked up Yu-Ching's love for idle gossip.
    
      Still, Jamie was happy to be learning new things with people who cherished her company. For me, that was all that mattered. Despite what Amy Tan's "Joy Luck Club" might have lead many Westerners to believe, not all Chinese mothers-in-law were harpies, and not all Chinese husbands, ogres.
    
      In the case of the Hollisters, we had to be a bit more subtle or we'd have a blow-up like the one back in '04. For them, I simply stuck to the story that while I was with Rachelle, I was remained good friends with Janet.
    
      "How good a friend?" Mrs. Hollister asked me with an odd tone.
    
      "Good enough that she and Rachelle are friends too," I had replied.
    
      My mocha-skinned mate was mortified we were coming clean at last, although she stood by in quiet support. Rachelle's parents were surprisingly understanding, despite their earlier opposition against me. I suppose time, and the presence of grandchildren, had mellowed them out.
    
      Things became interesting when Janet swung by with the children for play-time with the twins. Freddy and Kady sped right to my black beauty, screaming, "Ma-maaa!" at the top of their lungs (the kids all knew my brown sugar spoiled them the most). Rachelle unsuccessfully tried to hush them as the twins joined the cacophany.
    
      Rachelle's father nearly dropped his glass while her mother clutched her chest. For a moment, it seemed like she was going to have a heart attack, but she was just overwhelmed all this was happening. Still, I knew they wouldn't take action against me, because I peeked into their minds.
    
      As for Melanie, her parents were let in on the secret last. Little Chen was ready to faint when I told her parents, but the Chens were true traditionalists, and understood why I did what I did. Yu-Ching's mother only asked that I'd look after her and Norman, to which I readily (and happily) reminded her I had agreed to do so when I wedded her daughter.
    
      Of course, I couldn't forget my Lady Wu. Her parents were the first to know (excluding my own parents and Laura) when Janet had the Christmas party at her house last year. Mr. and Mrs. Wu were less than thrilled, and more than a little shocked when they heard the news. They were wondering why the hell there were so many kids and "single mothers" at a family Christmas party. My dad suggested that the other fathers were all looking for parking spots, but I put that to rest with a menacing scowl.
    
      "This is no joke," I snapped unkindly.
    
      The icy treatment I gave my own father was enough to silence the chatter around us. Thankfully, Rachelle was nearby to get things back into gear.
    
      "Oh, don't mind him, Papa Chen. Stanley's just stressed!" My chocolate cutie quickly mixed a spicy cocktail and presented it with both hands. "Here, try this. I love it myself!"
    
      My father stiffly took his drink, murmured something, and slipped away. I wasn't sorry to see him leave. That incident aside, things went smoothly. Not only Janet's parents were let in on the secret, but my First's brother, James, as well. He had flown in with his family (Janet's half-sister didn't get along with either the father or mother, I forget whom) and he only shook his head at the new development.
    
      "You mean to tell me all that in Hong Kong was a lie?" James had asked me.
    
      "Not exactly," I said quickly.
    
      With the Wu family being the first "outsiders" to know our family's secret, I took nothing for granted. My gift was working overtime to nudge everyone in the right direction. Luckily, I had assistance: Viktoriya (willingly) and Melanie (unknowingly) were working the crowd. The older kids knew something serious was going on, but Laura managed to shoo them away with some light clean-up duty while we laid things out.
    
      "Think of it as a family mixer," I spoke genially, "It's all paperwork anyway."
    
      "Good lord." The man took another sip of his drink, and I noticed his hands were trembling.
    
      Janet's sister-in-law was also in a state of shock, but she managed to cope without the alcohol. I think Brenda suddenly realized she had to get gifts for all those nieces and nephews, while trying to wrap her mind around how the hell Janet became a polygamous wife.
    
      All in all, it was better than we'd hoped; neither Janet's brother or her parents harbored any animosity towards me as George Horten had.
    
    ===============================================================================
      ... NEEDS A MOTHER'S NIGHT
    ===============================================================================
    
      So, that Mother's Day weekend would be a trial run of sorts, although I wasn't the least bit worried. It was late afternoon when Shawn and I showered and readied ourselves. We met the others, packed the kids into the mini-vans, and headed to the Toong-Kwong restaurant on the district's main boulevard. It was an upscale generic Asian place which catered primarily to foreigners.
    
      Given that half my brides weren't Chinese, it fit the bill. The restaurant's signs and menus all had English translations, and they ordered what they liked without feeling uncomfortable or ostracized.
    
      That Saturday night got pretty interesting. It being Mothers' Day, my darlings relaxed and unwound at Janet's place while I put the kids to bed. Since we all had to get up tomorrow to meet the grandparents, I decided to get the kids bathed tonight, then grouped them into a boys' and girls' sleep-over (Jillian helped with the girls). I had just put my sons to bed in my condo when Kady began making trouble at Rachelle's place upstairs.
    
      While Jillian was readying for bed at Jamie's, Kady roused her sisters into having an impromptu "bun-bun" party (to this day, I have no idea what that is, and the girls have no recollection of it) by taking their stuffed toys into the hallway, and running around noisily until I checked on them.
    
      Kady managed to rally the twins and Jenny into making some demands from me before they'd head back inside. I had to read them an extra bedtime story -- or should I say, stories -- one for each of them, since I was (somehow) being unfair by putting the boys to bed first before the girls.
    
      I was wondering how much I could buzz the little rascal without lasting damage when Jillian came out to see what was going on in the hallway. She did her mother, Jamie, proud when she threatened to have Kady stay with Jenny and her for a month so "Mother Shawn can work with Dad in peace." Knowing Jamie's zero tolerance for misbehavior, Kady whined bit before becoming grumpy and sullen.
    
      As usual, I struck a compromise: I told the girls a longer story, then tucked them in for the night before I thanked Jillian for her quick thinking with disciplining her siblings. Then, my stepdaughter decided to extract a promise from me that I, rather than Jamie, would take her, Jessica, and their dates to their eighth-grade graduation dance (it would be Jillian's first, for doing well in school).
    
      "Because, dad," she pouted unhappily, "you know how mom feels about this stuff."
    
      I rolled my eyes and sighed. "Yes, sweetie. I promise. But just in case I can't, I'll make arrangements, okay?"
    
      "Thanks daddy!" She brightened up and kissed me on the cheek before slipping into Jamie's unit.
    
      By the time I headed back to Janet's house, I saw my women's group had gathered around my First's gigantic plasma television. The table before them was chock full of open bottles and several trays of liqueur candies. Saturday Night Live was on, and I caught a feeling of wistful nostalgia from Viktoriya when I entered the room.
    
      I smiled wanly as I poured myself a glass of water. It was only a few months ago she had been lezzin' out with Freya at a live taping of SNL. Still, I guess the Slavic siren couldn't complain with the women available to her now. I thought I saw a wicked gleam in Viktoriya's eye as she patted the spot next to her.
    
      'For you, dorogoi.' She pinged me.
    
      "Thanks." I sat between Viktoriya and my First.
    
      "See? I told you."
    
      At the corner of my eye, I saw Melanie whisper something in Shawn's ear, and the two giggled.
    
      "Huh? What is it?" I asked.
    
      "Nuh-thing!" Yu-Ching replied sweetly with a deliberate, cheeky pause between syllables.
    
      Curious, I reflexively reached out with my mind, and encountered a mental hush around not just Melanie, but Shawn as well. It was a weird feeling not being able to pick-up clear thoughts from my dumpling at this range. I wasn't too concerned, but it was certainly a little more than odd. I didn't dwell on it though, as the Digital Short was starting to air.
    
      "Oh hey, I recognize them!" Jamie called out.
    
      "The 'Dick-in-a-Box' guys, right?" Rachelle piped up.
    
      "Yar, now shush. I wanna listen!" Janet waved for everyone to be quiet before she downed another shot of liquor.
    
      For the next few minutes, my darlings and I listened to one of the most hysterically funny and offensive songs to date: Timberlake's and Samberg's "Motherlover". I cocked my head and wanted to say something, but I didn't. I wasn't sure if the song was meant to be satirical, or gross comedy.
    
      There were quite a few laughs, guffaws, chortles, "Omigods!", and one very loud, "Ha-ha-ha! That was some funny shit!" (it was Janet, who already started to get tipsy).
    
      From the corner of my eye, I spied Melanie and Shawn giggling like wicked little children. They were whispering about something, but since I couldn't read Melanie very well, I could only pick up some hazy thoughts from Shawn: 'Tee-hee.' 'They're totally gonna be surprised.' 'When?' and 'How 'bout after Weekend Update?'
    
      It was late, but my six darlings drank a few more shots and finished the liqueur chocolates. While the women took in every kind of drink under the sun, I stuck with a splash of Scotch diluted with a can of Mountain Dew -- I hedged a bet the caffeine would offset the alcohol.
    
      As SNL wrapped up, I excused myself to use the restroom and used a hand towel to wash my face and other parts of my body that got sweaty. I tossed the towel into the hamper and rinsed my hands. By the time I came back out, my wives were huddled around Melanie's laptop. That was weird, as I knew Yu-Ching seldom brought her MacBook anywhere. If she needed to surf the web at work, she'd do it from her smartphone.
    
      The women were doing a mix of chatting, gagging, or laughing. I knitted my brow. That was strange indeed. Some classical music was playing, and I was wondering what the hell they were watching. I knew most of my darlings would be bored out of their minds if they had to sit and watch Masterpiece Theater or Agatha Christie's Poirot. When I peeked over their shoulders, it was apparently some sort of fetish _scheisse_ movie.
    
      "What is this I don't even!" (sic) Janet was laughing drunkenly and not making much sense as she gulped another shot.
    
      The movie showed two performers engaged in some serious scat play. I watched -- horrified (but oddly fascinated) -- as one girl shat into a glass cup, before the second girl began licking its contents. Things only got worse from there. Aside from the shit-filled lesbian lip lock they engaged in, one of them eventually stuck a finger down her throat, gagged, and vomited on the other. Her partner reciprocated just seconds later. I winced as Rachelle hurriedly pushed past me.
    
      "Oh God, I think I'm going to be sick."
    
      Despite the dimness of the living room, I could see my black beauty had turned several shades of green. I confirmed she wasn't feeling well hearing a dry retch from the restroom. I watched her swig several mouthfuls of Listerine before she came back out, a little shaken, but otherwise okay.
    
      "Jesus, Yu-Ching," I turned around and scolded her, "What the hell is this?"
    
      "Two girls, one cup." Melanie and Shawn both quipped. [Author's note: If you're going to look it up, do it at home. The term is 2girls1cup. Have fun.]
    
      Between their giggles and gagging, they both couldn't stop watching as the clip ran its full length (then looped). I gave my two youngest darlings a disapproving look. This was ridiculous. First, they were sharing Pokemon. Then they moved onto MP3s. After the kids were born, they swapped baby stories and nursery rhymes. But now they were swapping fetish porn? I didn't know where to start.
    
      "What the hell?" I asked.
    
      "Kei-jie showed us!" My little darling pointed.
    
      "Jaaaay?" I started slowly.
    
      "It wasn't me! I just forwarded it!" Jamie wore a sick, lop-sided grin. Her eyes bespoke a mixture of horror and fascination as hid behind Janet.
    
      "Well that's just as bad." I reflexively pinged, "So, who sent---"
    
      "I showed them," Viktoriya said good-naturedly.
    
      "Vika? You found this?" I was shocked, more so since I hadn't picked up on it earlier. Her mental defences gave away slightly and I realized she was saving it as a surprise for me.
    
      'Some surprise, Vika!'
    
      'Don't you get mad at me.' She thought-spoke. 'You got me started by suggesting that I give you a Cleveland Steamer, then chickened out.'
    
      'No, I didn't.' I thought back.
    
      'Yes, you did!!' Viktoriya winked wryly and spoke aloud. "Well if you MUST know, I was wondering what you said about 'Cleveland Steamer' so I looked it up."
    
      "What? Oh God!" Janet glared at me, her tone suddenly sober. "Stanley? What the fuck!? You asked Viktoriya to shit on you?!"
    
      "No, I didn't," I repeated my thought. I wanted to correct my dusky Russkie's little white lie, but she quickly jumped in before I could finish.
    
      "He made fun of me," she whimpered convincingly. "When I didn't know what it was, he -- he told me to look it up."
    
      "Stanley, you bully!" Shawn punched my arm unkindly.
    
      "Hey!" I rubbed my arm. "Ow!!"
    
      Viktoriya continued her charade by feigning a sniffle. "And there were all these _other_ links. I felt I had to share them."
    
      "Share, Vika. Not scare," I admonished her weakly as more videos played on the laptop.
    
      I grimaced as the second clip (2Girls1Finger) was quickly followed by more awfulness (4GirlsFingerpaint). The final clip had twice the number of performers, but the outcome was exponentially worse -- the "paint" was a mix of human feces and vomit. I thought I had seen some gruesome things before.
    
      Coprography wasn't sexy (not to me anyway) but I found the situation rather comedic. This was due to the music being paired with something so visually awful. By now, even some of my more jaded darlings had to turn away, or dull their senses with more alcoholic drink.
    
      "Oh! I almost forgot to ask, Mel." Shawn nudged the petite woman. "Show me that other one you said you found. I haven't seen it yet."
    
      "Oh, yeah. Okay, Shawn Ellen. Just don't say I didn't warn you!"
    
      "What is it?" Rachelle stood beside me.
    
      Despite what she'd seen, she had rejoined our gathering, her curiosity piqued. My dark beauty wore a puzzled look as Melanie stopped the movie player, then pulled up another movie file.
    
      "Kids ... in ... a sandbox?" Rachelle knitted her brow. "Is it like stuff on Break dot-com?"
    
      "No." My youngest darling glanced at me slyly. "Not really. Prepare yourself!"
    
      "Oh jeez. Is it something with shit again?" My mocha mate began to hyperventilate, so I took her by the hand and did my best to calm her down.
    
      "No, no. It's not that." Viktoriya looked at me with detached amusement. "But it's something to think about if Stanislav misbehaves."
    
      'Uh-oh.' I pinged. 'What're you planning?'
    
      My vixen from the Volga only averted her eyes and pushed me away from her thoughts with a sly smile. I relented digging further (not that I was trying my best anyway) and sat down to watch "kids in a sandbox" -- which was anything but.
    
      The video was another web clip, culled from a longer film. It lasted about 30 seconds, but the scene was pretty over the top: a man and woman were in the 69 position, except the woman had a small dildo in one hand and not giving oral sex. Instead, she proceeded to slide the device's entire length _into the man's urethra_ and began working it in and out as fast she could.
    
      What was more, I could hear the guy's groans of pleasure from the furious assault. Although his cries bordered on the threshold of pain, he sounded as if he was enjoying himself as the plastic toy stretched his piss-hole to a diameter so a golf ball could roll through. Naturally, the video looped so we could all watch it again.
    
      "Hole-leee shiiit! GODDAAAAAAAAMN!!"
    
      Janet's expression was priceless as she began laughing hysterically. It quickly got to a point where Jamie had to steady her. The leggy Asian mother herself could hardly tear her own eyes away from the sight. I think my jaw must've dropped in disbelief at some point, because I felt Viktoriya gently lift my chin and close my mouth before she draped her arms over my shoulder.
    
      'Amazing isn't it?' She thought-spoke with mild disgust. 'I didn't know you men could do that. Or that you enjoyed having that done to you.'
    
      'Me neither.' I pinged back. 'I think I'd die.'
    
      'Well, I believe you.' Viktoriya seemed proud of herself. 'Even Cristobel and Marcello thought it was awful.'
    
      'Good God, Vika.'
    
      'Well, the others don't seem to mind it though.' Her thought-speech was laced with mischief.
    
      'Don't give them any ideas, you rascal.' I didn't bother to hide my disgust.
    
      'Why Stanislav!' Viktoriya smiled and suppressed the urge to laugh. 'You look positively aghast!'
    
      "Jeeesus CHRIIIIST!" Shawn looked between the computer screen and me, one hand over her mouth. "Is that for real?! Can you do that?"
    
      "I don't know," I said with a frown, "Frankly, I don't want to know. And don't any of you EVER dare try that."
    
      That wicked little imp, Melanie, stuck her tongue out before she stopped the movie player and started a virus scan.
    
      "Now hush, sugar," Rachelle was feeling better, and now sought to comfort _me_. "Just treat us all nice and that won't happen. Am I right, ladies?"
    
      "DAMN STRAIGHT, STANLEY CHEN!!" Janet finally topped off her liquid courage.
    
      "Oh Cripes, here she comes." Jamie flashed a bright smile as she moved out of the way.
    
      My flirtatious First purred drunkenly as she ran headlong into me and bowled me over. Viktoriya managed to cushion me, herself, and Rachelle as we fell. Thankfully, the living room had a thick carpet. My dark skinned darling quickly recovered as my Russian darling helped her back up.
    
      "Jeezis Jan!" I barely had time to utter a protest before my drunken First let out a loud whoop, pulled down my pants, and proceeded to manhandle me in front of the others.
    
      Janet gripped my slowly hardening dong, a wild look in her eyes. I caught sight of her wicked grin as she squeezed my erection with one hand, and poked dangerously at my pee-hole with the pinkie finger of her other hand. I tensed up as I caught a whiff of the ideas floating through her mind: she was wondering if she could insert a finger into my urethra, just like in the video.
    
      "Hey!" I propped myself up on my elbows, my eyes wide. "I wasn't kidding about that!"
    
      "Oh my God. Janet!? What are you--?" Rachelle's mouth hung open, and I could see her eyes widen from the scene unfolding before her.
    
      My devilish First winked at her former rival, then turned to face me. Janet grinned wickedly and teased the rim of my cock with a lacquered nail. I shuddered not from fear, but from the scrape of her sharp nails against the sensitive head of my dick. I sensed Janet was playing -- she had no intention to actually _attempting_ that awful thing we just watched, but she was trying to bluff me into thinking she would.
    
      Inwardly, I was relieved; outwardly, I played along.
    
      We locked eyes as Janet began her slow tease. I noticed that having an audience seemed to get her a little more aroused. As she lowered her lips onto my junk, I noticed Viktoriya had knelt quietly a bit away, and looking on in quiet amusement. She was telling me to be calm, and enjoy what was going to happen.
    
      "Hey! Help me strip him!" Melanie laughed as she hopped off her barstool.
    
      I shot Viktoriya a wry glance as the rest of my clothing was pulled off and, from her thoughts, instantly gathered what she had been up to. The drinking, the weird porn -- all of it was suggested by my dusky Russkie through a combination of 'normal' chat and some subtle nudges -- had riled up my darlings and loosened them up.
    
      'Remember what I said the night we were finally all married?' She smiled broadly as she spoke right into my mind. 'There are SIX of us now, kisa.'
    
      'I remember, sweetheart.' I shivered as Janet curled her tongue around the tip of my cock. 'But are you okay with taking turns?'
    
      'I will be okay just watching, but I don't mind a ---' Viktoriya closed her eyes a bit to fish for the term Janet had used. '--- Guy Rodeo.'
    
      I had to smile as my First got on and rode me; unlike the first time all those years ago, my Lady Wu was totally unhinged. Viktoriya contented herself by drifting from one girl to the other, toying with, and teasing them until they gave in to her wiles. Well, she didn't need to do much to get Melanie to go along. As much as Little Chen didn't like kissing girls, she didn't mind getting cunnilingus from one.
    
      Jamie was more permissive, while both Shawn and Rachelle put up some resistance, preferring to just watch and wait for their turn. All that went out the window once Janet hopped off my cock, slurred drunkenly at Rachelle, "It's Sat'idy! Time ta' fuckin' unwind, bitch!!" and pounced her with unrestrained abandonment. My brown sugar let out a horrified screech as my First held her down and practically tongue-raped her puss.
    
      'Wow.' Viktoriya held back a smile as she pinged me. 'Just like that night after the club.'
    
      'No wonder you butter up to her.' I thought-spoke accusingly. 'You knew Jan's a wild one, didn't you?'
    
      'Everyone has secrets, Stanislav.' She left it at that. I was about to ask her about it when Jamie, seeing me unoccupied, crawled on top and straddled on me.
    
      "Hope you don't mind, Stanley," my luscious Asian angel said sheepishly. "But it's kind of a free-for-all."
    
      I grinned, held her steady by the hand, and pulled her close to give her my answer. Viktoriya enjoyed herself too. She coddled the others before she tried anything, making them more willing to accept her advances. Even Shawn, whose conservative upbringing pretty much frowned on same-sex anything, gave in and partook in the orgy.
    
      Viktoriya's big score though, was with Rachelle. Warmed up by Janet, my dark-skinned darling quickly came again when her Grafenberg spot secretly got TK-rolled by me and Viktoriya. My black beauty let out an incoherent cry as she splashed her love juice on my Cossack cutie's face. Vika barely had time to recover before my First jumped her as well, licking her face like a bitch in heat. Of course, I was a little busy to notice much detail, because I was finishing up with Jamie.
    
      Nearby, my darling dumpling was helpless as Little Chen spoon-fucked her. Yu-Ching's fingers were glistening with juice as they slipped effortlessly into Shawn's cooze. Melanie hadn't held back at all once Janet made it clear there were no holds barred, and she quickly cozied up to her plump companion.
    
      I barely had time to enjoy the show because Jamie clawed at me desperately. Her eyes were rolled back as she came in a low-pitched, sex-induced wail that nearly drove me over the edge, and drew some cat-calls and whistles from some of the others. I managed to pull out of the convulsing Asian hottie before I crawled on top of Viktoriya.
    
      If that wasn't enough to start a psychic Bacchanalia, then having a wild little empath certainly was. By now, Melanie was getting her cunt eaten out by Janet. The next thing I knew, the combined lusts of Viktoriya, Melanie, and me were being transmitted to the other women. With Little Chen's emotions running full blast and my dusky Russkie lost to her sapphic desires, I had more than I could handle, and I did what I could to control the event that was about to unfold.
    
      When I pulled out, my Slavic sex-pot convulsed from both physical and mental euphoria. Rachelle, dazed and overcome with unfettered lust, pushed me down and impaled herself on my rock-solid cock. She didn't let up until she practically blew a gusher all over me. The rest of the night went by in a blur. I knew I fucked all six of my wives, though I lost count of how many times (and with whom). I had enough to do just simply staying hard and in control.
    
      Finally, just when I thought I was ready to explode, my darlings clamored for me to squirt. They surrounded me, licking, pinching, kissing, touching what spots on my body they could get to. I couldn't hold back any longer and happily shooting off a thick stream of cum amidst my wives' six eager, gaping mouths.
    
      It was probably the best orgasm I had ever had. The psychic "stacking" that Viktoriya and Melanie were unconsciously doing meant I felt a magnified sense of euphoria (which quickly spread to the others -- it's a vicious cycle). I personally "felt" the orgasmic high of everyone else, as they did mine.
    
      Remember what comedian Steve Martin once said about an extended orgasm? It was like that. For a few brief minutes, we all felt like there wasn't anything better; all seven of us were buzzed out of out minds, and it was fuckin' incredible.
    
      Exhausted, I collapsed in the center of the living room surrounded by my wives, like a sultan in those Arabian fantasy tales. It was amazing that we were all able to wake up on time the next day. We managed to clean up and take the kids to meet the grandparents at Fisherman's Wharf.
    
      That was Mother's Day weekend, 2009. A week later, we got the news that Andrew was missing in action.
    
    ===============================================================================
      JUNE GAMBLE
    ===============================================================================
    
      It has only been mere hours since I fell into the roadside ditch ... or was it a bomb crater? I couldn't remember clearly, but I knew I was in trouble. I had done the one thing Viktoriya had warned me not to do: wander into a warzone.
    
      After I slipped onto a mercenary speedboat and illicitly entered Iraq through Az Zubayz on the coast, I hitched a ride with a U.S. convoy towards Basrah, posing as a journalist who was lost. That was a careless move on my part, because the soldiers took me into custody for not having the proper credentials. I suppose I could've flew, but I wasn't going to telekinetically levitate myself in broad daylight in the middle of a desert; such a feat of showmanship would've welcomed instant discovery.
    
      In any case, I didn't stay an American prisoner for long -- an explosion destroyed the lead vehicle and the rest of the convoy was shot up in a roadside ambush. I took advantage of the chaos to mentally knock-out my guard. He was a thin, lean, mean fighting machine, but he was no match for me. As soon as I put my hands on him, his body was no longer his to command.
    
      It didn't matter much if the marine knew who I was, for a hand grenade landed nearby. For sake of survival, I used the poor sap as a human shield and bolstered my fleshy wall with as much repelling force I could muster.
    
      The explosion was deafening, but I was protected; it was the shockwave that knocked me senseless. The insurgents managed to kill the entire patrol and capture me. For a bunch of untrained assholes who were heavily addicted to khat and hasish, they certainly worked fast. Within minutes of my grab, the thugs had confiscated my wallet and phone, along with anything else they thought valuable.
    
      And why was I in this damn predicament? I was looking for my idiot little brother who had disappeared somewhere in this god-forsaken country. Andrew had been doing what he volunteered for: perform preliminary diagnoses of potential problem soldiers and psych-discharges at a well protected base. The more serious cases were shuttled back to Germany or the States, but the soldiers who "faked" their symptoms and the troublemakers would be retained in rear echelon duty -- digging trenches, cooking meals, and supporting the frontline infantry.
    
      For the first few months, he was fine. Ah-Pung sent e-mails detailing his day-to-day routine (all of it boring). He only failed to write home once, when he was too tired one night, and both our mother and Ami raised hell about it. He immediately wrote back and apologized, but one day his email correspondence stopped.
    
      A few days later, I got a frantic call from Janet to meet at my parents. Ghost Light had just transported me back to the Green-Haus office from an interrogation in Afghanistan (an extended lunch was my cover), and I didn't carry my phone with me (I didn't need its GPS tracker placing me out of the country).
    
      Fearing the worse, I rode a cab back, and found it curious that my parents were panicky, but alive. I found Ami's car in the driveway, along with a few other of my darlings' cars. Wondering what the hell was going on, I knocked on the door.
    
      To my surprise, it was a young army officer who greeted me. Almost all my darlings were present (except Rachelle, who was working late at LucasArts; I thought it was just Ra-Ra avoiding Shawn when possible. Since Rachelle landed her job, my pumpkin would bug the older woman about anything related to Star Wars).
    
      My wives were in the living room, all of them helping an anxious Ami console my sobbing mother. It was then I learned that Andrew had disappeared while off-base nearly a week ago. He didn't return from a "fishing trip" near the outskirts of Umm Qasr. The town was in the delta region which formed the border between Kuwait and Iraq. When the party came back to the compound, he was missing. No explanation was offered.
    
      The army officer had shown up at my parents' house and delivered the news about Andrew. From there, the news spread quickly and Janet got a hold of everyone else, including Ameena and Sachiko. Needless to say, we were all in shock.
    
      "He was so careful." Ami dabbed her eyes with her hijab when she and I were alone with Janet in the kitchen. "What could've happened?"
    
      My First put on her best face and looked to me for answers. I could only shrug.
    
      "Don't think about it all right?" I soothed her. "Maybe he did get lost."
    
      Or maybe Andrew was already dead, although I didn't sense it to be true. No, something weird was going on. I could sense him, but not precisely, like my youngest wife. It was like Andrew had suddenly developed mental masking on his own. That was disturbing on its own, but hardly detracted from the immediate fact that he was MIA.
    
      Just days after the news broke, Sachiko dropped by my parents' place as I was seeing Ami on her way out. My stomach knotted at the thought of what would happen, but things didn't blow up as I expected. Instead, both were more than amicable, with Sachiko taking Ameena aside and talking to her in private. They spoke in low whispers as if to exclude me, but I picked up enough of their thoughts to know that the two were simply talking about Andrew.
    
      Officially, Sachiko was visiting her sister, Gracia, in the city. Deep down though, I sensed her underlying guilt about my brother's situation. I found out later that despite my warning NOT to speak to the Japanese firebrand after their blow-up, my brother shot her a vindictive and heated text in response to her latest verbal barrage.
    
      Essentially: 'You want me to go to hell? Fine. I'll go.' The next day, Andrew put in his papers for the volunteer assignment. Sachiko made nice with my parents, but things got weird when she asked to see his old room.
    
      My brother still hadn't moved out as he worked at the Veterans' Affairs Hospital on 42nd Avenue. My brother's ex asked to have a moment alone there. My parents understood and left, but I lingered just past the door.
    
      I knew what she was thinking. For Sachiko, Andrew being MIA pretty much meant he was KIA. She was going for closure and cutting him out of her life forever. All of a sudden, I realized that the woman was alone and vulnerable; I formed a plan on the spot and sprung into action. Knowing what I knew about Andrew, I took a gamble for my brother's sake.
    
      "He never stopped loving you," I said quietly.
    
      Sachiko turned, surprised to see me standing in the doorway. She was a tall for a Japanese girl. Her sister Gracia was a shade shorter and appeared more plain than Janet. Her attire was one of unfettered professionalism -- black dress, white blouse, and dark pumps. In almost every way, she was very much like Janet when she was back in college, but with a much prettier face. I chuckled inwardly at that; Andrew did look more imposing and was more handsome than I, so he did deserve the lovelier ladies.
    
      "What are _you_ still doing here?" she asked, annoyed as if I didn't have the right to be in the same room as she.
    
      "Just keeping an eye on things," I replied simply.
    
      Sachiko sniffed and turned away, as if she could hide her thoughts just by doing so. I sensed she didn't want to hear whatever it was I had to say. But in turning away from me, she found herself facing his dresser, which (for a guy) had a lot of knick-knacks and other stuff.
    
      I couldn't blame him as Ami had started staying here (to get a break from her parents) but he kept that one important memento of Sachiko's. I immediately sensed her pain when she saw the engagement ring. From the brief flash of memories I picked up, the last she'd seen it was the day she found him with Alexia. Sachiko had screamed at him, tossed the ring, and stormed out.
    
      Andrew hadn't done much with it. He couldn't return it or give it to someone else since the band had Sachiko's name engraved. So, he kept it around and he was about to pawn it to a scrap metal dealer when things got interesting with Ami. She kept him busy up until Andrew got his marching orders.
    
      Now, I needed to persuade Sachiko that he'd been thinking about her still. She was standing before the dresser, staring at that ring when I placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. Despite her objection to my presence, she didn't immediately shake me off.
    
      I "nudged" a small illusion into her mind. Sachiko saw a thin strip of rice tissue paper, barely a 1/8th of an inch wide, curled around the circumference of the ring. It was so thin and light, she barely noticed it was there before (because it wasn't). I let my hand fall away, my illusion running its course; Sachiko picked up the rice slip, and saw two lightly penciled words which moved her deeply: FORGIVE ME. It was enough to cause her eyes to well up.
    
      The emotional boo-hoo aside, I needed her to cry so I could cover up my tracks. Predictably, she wiped her eyes with her hands, and the diaphanous "paper" on which Andrew had supposedly written an apology vanished, "dissolved" when it made contact with the girl's tears.
    
      When the illusion played itself out, Sachiko let out a strangled cry, and took a step back, casting her gaze about the floor. I played innocent, and asked her if she'd lost a contact lens.
    
      "Damn it!" she was frantic, "That little ribbon. Did you see it? Where'd it go?!"
    
      I shook my head. "Sorry. Didn't see anything." I lingered for a moment more, and left, satisfied that something had gone right for my little brother.
    
    ===============================================================================
      NIGHT DEPARTURE
    ===============================================================================
    
      No more than a week passed when I decided to use a project as a smokescreen to look for Andrew myself. One of my current projects at Green-Haus was to draft construction plans for solar collectors and piezoceramic floors in housing complexes in Dubayy in the United Arab Emirates. The project had been conceived before the real estate bubble burst, and despite the current economic climate, the project was going to be completed.
    
      I simply had to transmit the plans and get paid. However, I concocted a wild scheme to personally hand deliver the plans to the building supervisor. And while there, I figured it'd be easy to slip into Iraq by air or mental trickery. Hopefully, I could find Andrew before my absence raised flags with the agency. As it turned out, the NSA was the least of my worries.
    
      When I brought up my impending business trip, my First scolded me for being foolish. Apparently, Janet had done her homework on my project and she immediately confronted me about my itinerary. I wondered what precautions I should've taken; while Shawn meant no harm, my plump pumpkin was also pretty oblivious to the subtle means Janet went nosing around my business.
    
      My First may not have had Viktoriya's ability to mind-read, or Melanie's gift of empathy, but she was quite capable of digging things up on her own. When I mentioned I would be out of the country on business around her 38th birthday (not to mention her 20th high school reunion) Janet became suspicious. She dropped in on Shawn at the office and got her talking. Correlating that information with what she gleaned from Gracia and Jules, my First concluded I was trying to pull a fast one on her.
    
      Janet threatened to reveal what she knew to my parents, if only to get me from leaving. I got so angry over her threats and constant beration, I stopped talking to her when I spent time at her place. I helped with Michael's homework, and doted on Freddy, but gave Janet simple, monotonous responses.
    
      At first, my stubborn Lady Wu played cool, as we had fought many times before. I'd either go and try to persuade her, or wind up agreeing with her. This time, things were different: Janet was really riled up and refused to be swayed, and I was adamant on finding Andrew myself; I could sense he was alive, but something was throwing me off-track, so I couldn't pin-point Andrew's exact location.
    
      As my departure date neared, Janet grew ever more anxious thought she never showed it outwardly. But that wasn't the worst of it. Despite my best efforts, Viktoriya managed to get the gist of what I was planning to do (although she confessed later it was like pulling teeth to see what I was thinking) and she was pretty unhappy about it.
    
      The night before I left, my darlings gathered at my condo to spend some time with me. Between Janet and Viktoriya, the others more or less got the message I was going overseas to "do something". My First ate and spoke very little throughout dinner. Afterwards, she excused herself and retired to her unit, leaving our sons with me.
    
      I could pick up the children's growing unrest over Janet's behavior, so I entertained them with the story of the three little pigs. It wasn't the traditional story; I used some creative license and told them how the pigs' different building systems (straw, wood, and masonry) were used to foil the big bad wolf and the Forest's Zoning and Planning Commission's plan to seize the pigs' property.
    
      "And so the three little pigs stuck together and helped each other keep their house. Just like you all should look after one another, understand?"
    
      The younger kids looked at me with bright, hopeful eyes, while my two older boys nodded as they took in the lesson. Jillian was nowhere to be seen; she had heard this story when I told it to her years ago, and was over at Jessica's place that evening for a school project.
    
      'I've never heard that one before.' Viktoriya thought-spoke wistfully when I finished. 'I can't wait to hear what you did with Hansel and Gretal.'
    
      'I haven't thought that far ahead.' I admitted over thought-speech.
    
      With storytime over, the kids were now content to play a bit before bed. Having learned to walk, little Norman began racing around our little circle while Kady and Freddy ran after him. The toddler proved to be Melanie's bouncing baby boy when he ran headlong into one of my inflatable exercise balls I used for telekinetic practice when no one was around. Normie fell flat on his ass with a loud SPLAT that made his mother's heart skip a beat; however, the tot promptly got up and began running at full tilt again, squealing with excitement from the chase.
    
      "Ha-hah!" Rachelle grinned from the sidelines. "He's a real tough guy, just like his pop-pop."
    
      Jamie, Viktoriya, Shawn, and Melanie exchanged nervous glances as the mulatto went back to braiding Jenny's hair. My daughter was miming her step-mother with the jumbo doll that had once been Jillian's. I brightened inwardly as I remembered last Christmas; Jillian had started to accumulate "stuff" from her art lessons with Shawn, music lessons with Melanie, and dance lessons with Viktoriya. She had so much stuff, Jamie finally gave her the order to clean her room of unwanted things.
    
      Among the items Jillian reluctantly parted with was that giant doll I had bought her for our first Christmas years ago. Wise to her mother's wishes, my stepdaughter decided to present her doll to her little sister, who had begun pestering everyone to be her playmate. With the twins being possessive about their own dolls, and Kady doing her own thing, Jenny felt a little left out.
    
      Jillian's gift let her keep the doll around, placate her little sister (incidentally making the other girls jealous), and make nice with her mother. Eventually, Jill's attachment to her dolly waned, although she checked in now and then to make sure it was still in one piece. It was rather humorous (to me anyway) to watch Rachelle style Jenny's hair while the girl, in turn, fiddled with the doll's hair. It was like one of those Russian figure-in-a-figure toys.
    
      "See here?" Rachelle finished tying up a braid and held up a mirror to show Jenny. "You can wear it like this ... or this!"
    
      "Please don't give her too many ideas, Raych," Jamie sighed and slid off the couch.
    
      "Oh, Jay." Rachelle shook her head and sighed. "She'll be fine. Don't worry."
    
      The Asian beauty scratched my shoulders lightly and nodded towards the clock. I glanced at the time and nodded. It was late, and Jillian wasn't home yet.
    
      "Want me to come along?" I asked.
    
      "No, I'll go," Jamie said. "You just be careful, okay?"
    
      "Gotcha." I gave her hand a squeeze.
    
      "Mommy?"
    
      We both turned to look as Jenny got up and walked towards her birth-mother.
    
      "Mommy is going to pick up your sister, then come home." Jamie gave our daughter a tender hug. "So, you be good at Mommy Rachelle's and play nice with your sisters, understand?"
    
      Jenny nodded happily, gave my angelic Asian honey a kiss on the cheek, then skipped back towards Rachelle. My black beauty waited patiently until the fey girl sat down once more before she resumed her hair-braiding.
    
      "She'll be in good hands, hun." Rachelle smiled broadly. "Just have fun with Jill."
    
      "Thanks, I will." Jamie waved.
    
      "I think I'll come along." Viktoriya stood to leave. "I could use a stretch."
    
      "Now?" The lovely Asian mother was flustered. "You know I'm taking Jillian home, right?"
    
      "All the more for me to come along." My Ukrainian uber-cutie smiled warmly. "It is dark out there!"
    
      "I'll bet."
    
      Although Rachelle muttered it under her breath, it was loud enough for everyone to hear. I sensed embarrassment from the others while Viktoriya only wore that mischievous smile we all recognized.
    
      'No craziness now.' I warned her mentally. 'I have enough to worry about.'
    
      'Why Stanislav!' She gave Milhail a hug as she broadcasted to me. 'Of course not! I will wait until we come back and the children are tucked in first ...'
    
      "Goodnight, Mily," she spoke normally, "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"
    
      "Yes mama," Milhail quickly turned back to his building blocks.
    
      I sighed as the two women slipped out the door. Viktoriya was trying her best to appear casual and predictable; I got the feeling she was absolutely terrified about my impending departure. Danielle mistook me for being bored and handed me another fistful of building blocks to sort.
    
      "Isn't that a little too much?" I pinched her arm playfully. "How about asking your brothers and sisters for help?"
    
      "Okay, da-daa."
    
      The tan-skinned girl tottered over to her sister, Janelle, and neatly set down her bricks. She then came back to me with an expectant look. I scooted over and proceeded to help the two girls sort their bricks by color and size.
    
      While I did, I looked over and saw Freddy was content to follow Michael's and Milhail's lead in building a massive tower in the middle of the room while Jenny sat quietly on the sidelines, focused on her massive doll. Kady, typically unrestrained, drifted between nosing about her older siblings' business, being pushy with her sisters, and actively chasing baby Norman around the room.
    
      I was keen on watching how the kids interacted. Given their widely different backgrounds and physical features, I was concerned how they'd treat one another. Their mothers and I had made an effort to raise them correctly in an international household.
    
      Jamie, Melanie, and Janet often took the lead on discipline, so I was afraid that the kids would have their upbringing skewed with some sort of racial bias. However, Viktoriya, Shawn, and Rachelle had confidence in the others; race was hardly ever an issue -- just how much punishment the kids got.
    
      Of course, if the kids thought they were unfair, they'd come clamoring to me. Being what I was, I knew immediately if the kids were truly misbehaving or not. I was glad that most of the youngsters had concrete thoughts I could pick-up; Norman was the last blank slate, at least for now.
    
      My darlings were chatting on the side of the room. I could hear them talk about mundane things, from groceries to school events. Here and there, I'd catch my name, but only in relation to scheduling. Their thoughts though, betrayed their complacent chatter. I could sense their anxiety, but there was nothing more to talk about -- my mind was made up.
    
      When the children began yawning, we knew it was time for bed. I helped Shawn sort the kids out while Rachelle and Melanie finished the dishes. Jenny was staying with Rachelle for a few days; she preferred playing with the twins more than her other siblings. With Janet so worked up, I sprung a surprise on Michael and told him to stay with his brother Milhail in Viktoriya's place for the night.
    
      "Really?" he perked up, "Can I really, dad?"
    
      "Sure thing," I replied. "Just behave yourself. Both of you. And remember what I said about that Goldeneye game."
    
      "Yes sir," the boy nodded solemnly. "It won't happen again."
    
      "Good."
    
      Last year, Andrew had given our Nintendo 64 to his nephews as a Christmas present, along with his ancient library of games. One of them was a game titled "007: Goldeneye", based off the James Bond movie of the same name. Unfortunately, the enemies in the game were Russian soldiers.
    
      Michael got it in his head to insult their poor accuracy and lousy dialogue. He even got Milhail into the game, much to the displeasure of his birth-mother. One night, my oldest son gave her quite a shocker at the dinner table by saying, "Russians can't do anything right!"
    
      Viktoriya was not amused; in fact, she was beside herself with anger when Milhail began laughing from his brother's outburst. I quickly intervened before my Cossack darling really lost her temper, or worse, catapulted Janet's rambunctious son clear across the city with telekinesis (I must admit it would be pretty funny if it wasn't my kid).
    
      For that outburst, Michael was grounded for a week and tasked with babysitting Norman under Melanie's supervision. Milhail got a similar sentence helping Shawn with her routine adjustments on the building's solar wall. Both had to assist Yu-Ching and me with getting rid of the weeds in the roof garden. All other things considered, I chalked up the boys' punishment as a "win" for the parents.
    
      Although the older boys were old enough to put themselves to bed, we took no chances; Melanie took them and Freddy downstairs to Viktoriya's while the rest of us managed the girls.
    
      "You should go see her," Shawn scolded me after we left Rachelle's.
    
      My chocolate cutie was going to be busy the next day, caring for Jenny and the twins. She and Jamie arranged it so the latter could focus more on Jillian. We were headed back to the top floor -- the workmen had finally finished modifying Shawn's ventilation ducts just a few days before.
    
      "Do you mean Jan, sweetheart? I will," I tugged a drowsy Kady up the stairs. "C'mon tootsie, you were lively before; are you tired?"
    
      Kady didn't bother to answer as she gripped the handrail and my hand, slowly negotiating the stairs. Shawn, seeing her daughter struggle, sighed and picked her up.
    
      "She's big enough to make it herself, you know." I gave my plump wife a look of disapproval.
    
      "So you say, Stanley," Shawn murmured as Kady nodded off in her arms. "But she's still a baby to me. You pretty much wore her out before bed."
    
      "That's the plan." I chuckled and slid my arm around her waist. "How else can I get some time alone, sweetie?"
    
      "You're terrible." She shifted under the weight of our growing daughter. "But seriously; Janet seems really angry."
    
      "She'll get over it."
    
      "You think so?" Shawn shot me a stern glance. "You're making things more difficult than they need to be, Stanley."
    
      "You too, pumpkin?" I frowned. "I thought you'd be the most understanding."
    
      "Don't play dumb with me, you dope." She dimpled her cheeks. "I know you don't need to go to Dubai."
    
      "Of course I do. I need to check my work," I cut her off. "Besides, Jan only knew because you let her into my office."
    
      "Are you blaming me?" Shawn's baby blue eyes flashed.
    
      "No, pumpkin." I held her with both my hands. "I'm not blaming you. But look, things are kinda messed up right now. I just need to take things a step at a time. Jan's temper isn't helping."
    
      Shawn grunted under Kady's weight again. I easily took the snoozing girl into my arms and walked my Anglo angel into her condo.
    
      "Seriously baby-doll," I said and put Kady to bed, "I'll try and text you when I get there, but given how great laws about the Internet are in the UAE, I may only be able to email you."
    
      I paused, thinking about how the Internet cafes were filled with spammers and con-men.
    
      "And if not, I'll try and call if I can, okay?"
    
      "If you can?" Shawn lowered her gaze as I stepped back outside. "Can't you just --?"
    
      "Hush." I hugged her gently. "The earlier I get things done, the earlier I can come home, okay?"
    
      I soothed my plump petunia with comforting thoughts, but it was difficult. She was agitated and earnestly worried. Although Shawn wasn't privy to the things Viktoriya knew about me, she had seen me take down a sword swinging maniac years ago. Over the years, the gossip the women created could've filled a book.
    
      Between Janet's suspicions, Viktoriya's gossip, and the others' firsthand experiences of what I was capable of, my darlings pretty much had me figured out as a part-time government spook. While that suited my cover fine in regards to the invisible empire, it still brought no joy to maintaining my cover with the agency.
    
      When I came back to my condo, Little Chen was there waiting for me. Yu-Ching had gotten childcare down to a science; the boys dared not get unruly while she was around. I was always amazed how quickly she got them to do what she wanted.
    
      At times, I wondered if she was unknowingly using her latent gifts to "guilt" them into doing things. I noticed Norman was fast asleep on the sofa and covered with a small blanket. The petite woman hopped to her feet as soon as I closed the door.
    
      "Ling-jie's worried about you," Melanie said softly. "Can't you just send the plans, and not go? Nai-Nai wouldn't like it either."
    
      "It'll be just a quick trip." I kept my tone and my thoughts neutral. "Should be routine, unless someone fucked up."
    
      "Teiju-lei-ba houw-ah*," [* Cantonese: Watch your language] Melanie sighed, "We've got enough trouble with the boys acting up now that Viktoriya's back. She's so impetuous sometimes!"
    
      "Yes, I know. And I'm sorry," I said. "Look. Don't worry about it. Janet -- she'll get over this. And it'll be fine."
    
      "I hope so." Little Chen embraced me. "If something happens to you, what will we do? How could we go on?"
    
      "A day at a time?" I barely finished when Melanie caught and twisted my ears.
    
      "Wo-nghm-hai hei-do kwong-xui-ah!!*" [* Cantonese: I'm not here to joke around!] she hissed. "I only work part-time! And what about Viktoriya? She just moved back here because of you!"
    
      I winced uncomfortably, surprised Melanie had erupted into a such a firebrand. I took her hands into mind and slowly calmed her nerves.
    
      "Easy there, sweetie," I murmured, "Everything will be all right, okay? Just trust me, got it?"
    
      Yu-Ching didn't answer, but I felt her becoming more relaxed, if only reluctantly. It was late and I had plenty to do the next day, but the closeness of Melanie was something I hadn't enjoyed for a while.
    
      Since Norman was born, my littlest darling had been busy with the children and taking up daily domestic chores that she and I barely had the time to be intimate. Not counting that Mother's Day weekend, Yu-Ching and I had been so busy on our days together, we hadn't had the time to really be intimate. Now that I was walking into a warzone though ...
    
      Melanie must've felt, or -- in her words -- "heard" me, looked up at me with her round, doe-like eyes. She tip-toed and kissed me on the bottom of my chin. I kissed her back, my hands quickly groping her buttocks.
    
      "Ungh, Stanley," she panted, "Ugh, ungh, oh!"
    
      "Not so loud now," I whispered, "Or you'll wake him."
    
      Melanie fell silent, but she clutched me tightly as I carried her to my bedroom. I shut the door and placed her on the bed. I turned on the bathroom's light, and closed its door; this gave us just enough light to work with, but did nothing to spoil the mood. In the dimness of the room, I could see Little Chen's eyes grow wide.
    
      "Wait, Stanley. We haven't washed up yet!"
    
      "After," I said hoarsely. "I want to taste you."
    
      "Er, no!" she tried to struggle, but I pushed her down gently. "It's dirty down there! Yuck!!"
    
      I ignored her protests and kissed her hips and the spot on her stomach just above her patch of unkempt hair. Melanie shivered uncontrollably and lay down, enjoying my attentions. I pulled off her pants and inhaled. Despite what she thought, Little Chen's body odor was a huge turn on. I shuddered with delight as I took in her fragrance. My cock was starting to harden, and I quickly disrobed. My little darling regarded me with apprehension as I slid beside her.
    
      "Are you sure?" she asked. "What about Ling-jie?"
    
      "Don't worry about her," I murmured and rubbed the length of my finger along the crease of her legs.
    
      Melanie took in a sharp hiss of breath as my other hand cupped her breasts. I began playing with her body, one hand twisting her nipples softly, the other gently rubbing the smooth, little pearl that she had for a clit.
    
      "Ummm-hmmm." My darling wife reached back and ran her fingers through my hair. "Oh, Stanley. It's been such a long day."
    
      "I know." I kissed her absently. "So, let me make you feel good."
    
      Melanie gasped as I secretly TK-rolled her G-spot. When that wasn't enough, I buzzed her a bit. I felt her give way to my intrusion slowly, and without complaint. I hugged my little treasure dearly as we fucked quietly in the dark. When I tired of spooning her, I crawled atop her and fucked her, slow and deep. She took my hands and urged me on, our fingers intertwined as our hips came together.
    
      Odd as it was, I didn't shoot off. I stayed hard (with telekinesis, it's easy) and stayed with Melanie until she had come quite a few times. A small wet spot sprung up where I had pounded her petite ass. I found a dry spot on the bed and left her there. She slept snugly under the covers while I quickly wiped my body with a damp wash-cloth.
    
      I dressed, grabbed my bag, and slipped out of my condo. I missed Janet, and despite our recent fight, I still wanted to see her before I left. When I stepped into the lobby, Jamie and Viktoriya had come back with Jillian in tow.
    
      "Whoa." I stopped and gawked. "You guys just came back?"
    
      "Jessica's mother and I got to talking," Jamie started before Jillian shot past her and hugged me tightly.
    
      "Hi Daddy!"
    
      "Hey, princess." I gave her a peck on the cheek. "You guys finish your project?"
    
      "Almost!" Jillian immediately launched into a presentation detailing what she and Jessica were doing. I nodded along, listening to her prattle. I was also planning on how to do my cover job in Dubai, getting intel on Andrew, and making notes on what improvements my daughter may want to make with her homework. Then, almost as an afterthought, Jillian leaned over and whispered in my ear.
    
      "Who's going to take me and Jessie to the dance?"
    
      Despite my busy schedule, I remembered my promise to Jill. Viktoriya was more than eager to fill in, but she had private lessons that night. So, I spoke to Jamie the day before, and she finally agreed to let Yu-Ching take Jillian and her friend to their dance.
    
      "I didn't forget." I patted her on the back. "Mother Melanie will take you guys, okay?"
    
      Jillian pursed her lips -- Melanie was as much a disciplinarian as Jamie, although the younger woman wasn't as strict with boys. However, I got the distinct feeling my stepdaughter was unhappy about the choice of chaperone. Melanie's youthfulness meant she could monopolize attention at the dance if she was inclined to dress provocatively. But, beggars couldn't be choosers; Jill asked me for a favor, and I got it done.
    
      "Jillian, honey," Jamie spoke up. "It's getting late. You need to rest. Your father --" I sensed a surge of pride from her "-- needs some rest too. Go upstairs and wash up, okay?"
    
      "Yes'mum. G'night daddy."
    
      "G'night." I gave Jillian a final hug before she took off, book bags and all.
    
      "Going out?" Viktoriya asked.
    
      "I'm going to see Jan."
    
      "All right."
    
      My Baltic beauty was unusually tacit; normally, she would be broadcasting left and right, berating me for being bullish and stubborn, or bragging what she was going to do to Jill's mother, but not tonight. I soon realized that it was her equivalent of a "normal" holding back one's verbal opinions.
    
      "You be careful, all right?" Jamie stood erect, her lovely eyes studying me. "Call us when you arrive?"
    
      "Aye-aye ladies."
    
      The two women smiled meekly, unsure of what to say to keep me from leaving. Sensing their distress, I gathered the two in my arms and gave them a heartfelt hug. That's when I heard Viktoriya's thought-speech: 'Don't go Stanislav! Or at least let me come with you!'
    
      I patted both women and sent them on their way before I headed out. As I did, I mentally broadcast to my one darling who could clearly hear me: 'No. Just stop worrying. I'll be fine.'
    
      There was a brief silence before I caught her response.
    
      'Kisa, please ... stay safe. For all our sakes.'
    
      'Will do, sweetheart. Just look after Michael until Jan feels better. Okay?'
    
      'I will.' Viktoriya thought numbly. 'And, you need not worry if he misbehaves. I won't do anything rash, my love.'
    
      'Thank you, sweetheart.'
    
      And that was the end of it. I suppose Jamie and Viktoriya had talked about making me change my mind during their brief walk, or maybe they knew I was dead set about my decision and simply gave up. From the way Vika was thinking and acting, I could tell she was at a loss on how to persuade me short of physically restraining me.
    
      By now, I had arrived at Janet's front door, and thoughts of my other darlings receded as I began to focus on my incomparable First. Not wanting to disturb her, I let myself in and dropped my bag off by the door.
    
      The house was dark but I felt my way around until I reached the bedroom. I saw Janet, still dressed, snoozing atop the covers. The moon was bright enough that I could see her white pillow case was streaked with ugly black marks. Her mascara may have been water resistant, but I guess not tear-proof.
    
      Seeing my First fall asleep in such a distressed state made me uncomfortable. Gingerly, I picked her up in my arms. Using telekinesis, I pulled back the covers, then put her back on the bed.
    
      Janet groaned and with a lazy hand, swung about drowsily at some imagined annoyance. I heard her murmur something softly. I leaned close to make it out, but couldn't understand what she was saying. I dared a peek into her mind and found she was dreaming.
    
      Well, sort of. She was having a "peaceful" nightmare. In it, I saw my darlings all dressed in traditional black, heads bowed, and mourning. As she looked through the crowd, I sensed she was trying to find me, but couldn't. Each person or group Janet came to simply smiled and consoled her.
    
      By the time she had gone through the crowd, Janet was on the verge of being hysterical. I didn't need to be a genius to deduce whose funeral this was for.
    
      My First swung her arm out again, this time crying out my name unabashedly. It was a creepy thing to see, as I was right next to her. It was as if I was actually dead, and I was a ghost visiting her in the middle of the night. I glanced down and scratched myself, as if to reassure myself if _I_ was real, and not a dead man paying a visit to his living kin. The white streak left by my nail on my skin seemed reassuring enough.
    
      I sat by Janet and held her hand. I concentrated a bit and soon "mind-hopped" into her dreamscape. She was at the start of another funeral (or the same one again). Her heart at her throat as she began her search for me anew. This time, I sought to soothe her.
    
      Briefly, I wondered whose funeral should it be if it weren't mine. Ah, fuck it. It didn't matter. I just wanted Janet to stop worrying herself into an early grave. This time, when she began her search for me, I simply popped into her dreamscape and called out to her softly.
    
      'Ling-lei ling-hui zhoumeyah?*' [* Cantonese: (figuratively) What or who are you looking for? (literally) Why are you twisting about? It is a quasi-homonymous play on the last syllable of Janet's given name with the word 'ling' which means turn or twist, although the verb and Janet's name do not quite share the same tone.]
    
      Janet got a glimpse of my face and instantly jerked awake.
    
      "S--Stanley?"
    
      "Yes, darling?"
    
      "Wei-Keurng? Haei-mai jun-haei li-a*?" she whispered. [* Cantonese: Is it really you?]
    
      "Kgun hei-le. Zhung-you bien-guo*?" [* Cantonese: Of course. Who else?]
    
      I reinforced my reply by stroking her cheek. Janet reached up and clutched me tightly.
    
      "I just had the strangest dream." She sniffled loudly as I felt her body tremble.
    
      "Really?" I murmured. "Want to talk about it?"
    
      "No."
    
      I heard her sniffle again and I kept quiet. Janet's breathing was steady, but I could sense the gloomy sadness in her heart. As much as I wanted to nudge her feelings, there was very little I could do to keep what she was feeling from her, because I was feeling rotten about leaving. But, I could have a little heart-to-heart with my First, and at least soothe her rage before I left.
    
      "Hey," I whispered, "I'm sorry. For whatever you're mad at, Kam-Ling, I'm sorry."
    
      Her lips were quavering and she avoided my gaze, but she didn't budge when I held her close.
    
      "You should know better than that now, Stanley."
    
      "Know what?" I asked her absently.
    
      "Chen Wei-Keurng." Janet pulled back and gave me a petulant look. "You've got a skull as thick as Xieu Ching's steaks."
    
      I stifled a chuckle as my First tried some of her off-beat humor. It was a good sign she wasn't as mad as I thought she was.
    
      "That job you do part of the time doesn't make you invincible," she went on, "You can't just go around fixing problems just because they annoy you."
    
      "I know I can fix this one." I gave up lying about the agency. "It's just a quick sneak and peek."
    
      "And you couldn't do that with spy satellites?"
    
      I felt Janet relax both in mind and body immediately when I told her what I intended to do. It was as if a great burden had been lifted. Odd, I thought. Why was she so obsessed over what exactly I was doing? What a silly girl ...
    
      "It's better if I check things out myself," I explained. "It's more accurate and up-to-date than relying on signals and passing photos."
    
      Janet swallowed but remained quiet. We held each other for what seemed like an eternity, and I was starting to feel tired.
    
      "Hey, I got about maybe six hours before I need to head out," I said. "Can I stay here?"
    
      She looked up, and sniffed. I saw her cheeks were still wet but she quickly composed herself and nodded. We showered before we took to bed again. Though still fresh from our fight, Janet easily anticipated my urges. It didn't take long for my unspent erection to reawaken.
    
      Janet understood and took me to bed. She spread herself out under me, generously letting me empty my lust in her. She didn't complain, and even encouraged me to take my sweet time. I lasted a little over a minute.
    
      Afterwards, Kam-Ling curled against me as we slept. The warmth from our bodies kept each another so toasty, we only needed a thin sheet that night. It was the first time in a long time I had spent time with my incomparable First, and I was glad I did.
    
    ===============================================================================
      P.O.W.
    ===============================================================================
    
      After my arrival in Dubai, I scheduled things so that I would appear to be busy for a full week's time; setting it all up wasn't as hard as I thought with the right connections. I was glad I could read minds and work for the agency.
    
      No matter how much information the NSA wanted to hide from me, I could use my ability to nab the bits I needed for my own use. Thus, with my alibi taken care of, I began looking for transport into the area where I suspected where Andrew had vanished.
    
      With the mysterious mental static around him, I couldn't clearly see where my brother was; all I was able to do was narrow the area I needed to search. So, I followed his trail.
    
      After the convoy ambush, I was brought to a hot, dingy house in the middle of nowhere. The dry heat was very much like Tecate, but the locals spoke Arabic, not Spanish. And now, I was likely scheduled to die. Had I been "normal", I probably would've opted for death over another day with the heat. The sand, the dust, and the heat made a powerful combination -- it was enough to torture those who disliked high temperature, and could easily drive a person mad.
    
      "Get. Up."
    
      The heavily accented command jerked me from my thoughts. I sat up blindly, my captors guiding me where to go and how to sit. They had put a sack over my head to keep me in the dark, but once in close proximity, the minds of my kidnappers became vulnerable to my probing. I sifted through their thoughts quickly, and spied my surroundings through their eyes.
    
      In a few minutes, I had learned all that I needed from this band of bandits. They had attacked the convoy I was in simply because it was there; these guys were hungry for glory, and they'd gotten away with their surprise attack. These guys -- martyr minded ideologues -- also had no idea who Andrew was, let alone where he was.
    
      I decided I had wasted enough time and needed to leave. Unfortunately, that proved a bit of a problem. After a few more verbal barks in Arabic, someone said something I could understand.
    
      "You. Who are you? You are American?"
    
      I sensed the presence of three men in the room. One stood next to me as a guard or custodian, while another stood a back with his weapon casually by his side. Those two were the muscle and it was the third man who was fluent enough in English to interrogate me.
    
      "No," I managed a low growl, "Not all American. Chinese-American."
    
      "But still American?"
    
      "A little," I gave a half-assed reply.
    
      There was a quick burst of chatter between my interrogator and one of the gunmen. I sensed there was some confusion over how I identified myself. After few more rapid-fire commands, I sensed one of the gunmen leave the room. Probably to get his boss or something. I was still curious about how it would play out, so I asked a question.
    
      "Hey, what are you guys?"
    
      I sensed the remaining two terrorists' interest in me increase. The one who didn't understand English murmured something to my interrogator, who in turn, said something back. I blanched though, when I picked up some thought-imagery from the response: a guy with a big-ass knife standing over a hooded prisoner. Nice. I just walked right into a pack of shit-for-brains ragheads who enjoy uploading decapitations to YouTube.
    
      "You quiet." (sic)
    
      I winced as someone pulled the hood off of me. My mental surveillance proved accurate. I was in a small room with sunlight filtering through the slats in the roof. The two men in the room were exactly as I had pictured after mind-hopping through my captors: lean, mean, and with swarthy beards and mustaches.
    
      Presently, the door opened, and in stepped a gaunt-faced Arab wearing an olive drab military jacket. Despite my hands being restrained, I tried to stand up, but only get halfway to my knees before the man squatted to my level.
    
      "You speak only English?" he asked.
    
      "Yea," I said. "Who are you?"
    
      The man's eyes flickered over me; he registered some mild confusion. Almost all of the mercenaries working for Uncle Sam were white men. My looks must've gotten some attention. It certainly gave him a start when he first laid eyes on me.
    
      "Yusuf." The man pointed at himself, then pointed at me.
    
      "Stanley," I replied simply.
    
      The scruffy looking man frowned and then said something to the interrogator. The English-speaker squatted beside us and listened.
    
      "Yusuf says," my translator spoke haltingly, "You work for America?"
    
      Man, he had awful English, I thought. If I wasn't a mind reader, I probably would've misunderstood his line of query as an accusation.
    
      "Yes." I decided to play nice for now. "I _work in_ America. My family is _in_ America. Not for, 'in'. I like to keep my money."
    
      Nice going smart-ass, a part of my mind snickered at my attempt at a tax joke. The interpreter scratched his head and recited what I said to his boss. Yusuf immediately asked another question, and I looked expectantly at my interrogator.
    
      "Uh, he say: You are army?"
    
      "I am a builder. Not army," I shook my head. I never learned the Arabic word for architect.
    
      Yusuf spoke in his native tongue, his gaze not leaving me. I could sense he was wondering what to do with me. A shout outside though, caught his attention and he stood to leave. The interpreter also stood, and he unholstered his pistol -- a bad sign. The door closed after Yusuf barked a few orders, and I was alone with my captors in the small mud shack. I shifted my concentration and pinged my surroundings. I unsurprisingly got the sense that the terrorists were worked up over something.
    
      By the time I mind-hopped to the perimeter guard, I got the gist of what was going on: a second party of armed rebels were demanding that Yusuf's captive be turned over to them for beheading. It seemed the patrol that had picked me up had just ran through another area and shot a few of the men in the second band. Yusuf though, was unsure of the ramifications of executing a Chinese and were trying to dissuade the angry individuals in the second group.
    
      This was quickly escalating past a point I wouldn't be able to contain, and I definitely wasn't going to sit and wait to see what would happen next. I needed a way to get out of this, and concocted a plan on the spot. Already, the leader of the second group had sent three of his men towards where I was held all while he was arguing with Yusuf.
    
      Aside from the interpreter and my armed guard, one of Yusuf's men was outside, guarding the entrance. I quickly pinged the three fighters coming for me, and executed my escape plan. Yusuf's man greeted the three fighters from the second group. After some loud haggling, the sentry allowed the three men to step inside -- and "saw" two American Marines in full regalia, armed and waiting.
    
      Almost instantly, pandemonium erupted. The man who had been the interpreter screamed as the second group's point man raised his weapon and fired point blank, killing my guard. The interpreter fired back, killing the man who had shot first. Seeing this sudden act of hostility, the sentry immediately blazed and caught both of the second group's remaining fighters in a long spray of lead, but not before one of the dying men fired back and killed both the door sentry and the interpreter.
    
      My little prison wasn't the only place of violence. As soon as gunshots rang out, the second group's leader and Yusuf took cover. Once they realized the gunfire was coming from the prison, they immediately traded blows. I urged on the fracas by mind-hopping from the perimeter guard into the second group's turret gunner, a boy manning the heavy gun on a Technical belonging to the second group. I tricked him into seeing an American flag patch on Yusuf's collar, and let chaos take over.
    
      Gunmen on both sides opened up and I pressed myself flat on the ground, shifting my concentration to repel things around me. A few times, the bullets pinging and whizzing by the shack were a little too close for comfort, but I got through unscathed. Once the firing died down, I easily broke my bonds, and surveyed the carnage. Dead men were littered everywhere, just like in my old jaunts south of the border.
    
      I grabbed my personal effects from a box in the corner, then pinged from the safety of the room. What thoughts I could pick up were on their way out. Surrounded by death, I stepped outside and followed the bootprints in the dirt towards the Technical. The fighters were better trained than the banditos and gang bangers I had dealt with, for the truck was mostly untouched by gunfire.
    
      A crack in the windshield here and a bullet hole there, but the vehicle was in good shape. The only disturbing mess was the gunner; he was shot in the head, and now his body lay bent over the sides of the cargo bed, a dark pool of maroon coagulated in the desert dust where he fell.
    
      While I could take the vehicle and give my gifts a rest, the mounted gun worried me. I didn't need a nosy armchair pilot in the Air Force to drop a Hellfire on me because he was bored and thought I was a terrorist or a gunrunner. I used telekinesis to unscrew the damn thing and threw it over the side. I grabbed a headscarf from one of the dead men and wiped the blood off the side of the truck as best I could before I drove off.
    
    ===============================================================================
      VAGRANCY
    ===============================================================================
    
      By the time I left the insurgents' campsite, it was already dark. There was no compass in the vehicle and no GPS. I could only use the rising and setting of the sun as a rough guide, but that wouldn't help me locate what I was looking for. Instead, I drove towards my brother's last known presence, using my gift to guide me.
    
      Since I had no idea where I was, I was simply driving. I then realized that with no one around, I could probably put the truck in neutral and push the fucking thing with telekinesis. I did so to save on gasoline, and found the experience quite satisfying.
    
      I reached something like a road in the middle of the night. Given my last experience with Iraqi roads, I steered clear of it and kept going. I finally came upon an abandoned checkpoint of sorts. It had been quite some time before I had eaten, so I was starved. I rummaged around the checkpoint, hoping to find something edible, but there was nothing to be had.
    
      I began cackling madly. I was going to starve to death if I stayed, but if I started flying to save myself, I was going to get caught by Tseng and killed. Damned if I do, damned if I don't. I was pretty out of it when I sensed a presence that was both at once strange and familiar.
    
      'Are you Stan Chen?' The thought-speech I didn't recognize, but it was comforting all the same.
    
      'Who are you?' I wanted to peer into the darkness, but instead, I reflexively pinged. There was something here. Something very hard to detect ...
    
      'I am Halah.' Came the reply. 'Follow.'
    
      Follow what, I thought. Almost as in response, a ghostly robed figure carrying a lantern beckoned in the distance. I hesitated until the light from figure dimmed -- no, it was eclipsed by the turn of the body -- who ever it was, she (I got the sense from the thought-speech that it was a woman) was turning to leave. I turned to look back at the truck I had stolen. The figure was going off the road, but wouldn't it be easier to drive?
    
      'No, Stan Chen. Use your gift.' I picked up the gentle thought at once. 'Without the machine, you are harder to find from the sky.'
    
      That was true, I thought. I forgot about the spy satellites. So, TK-skating it was. I picked myself up and began pursuing the figure in the distance. Each time I thought I'd catch up to whoever it was, she'd vanish over the top of the hill. When I crested the top, she'd already be on the next rise and so forth. This was impossible, I knew, unless she was a displacer like the fuck-wit Reese, or someone was putting an illusion in my mind.
    
      'You are right.' The mysterious woman seemed ruffled at my suspicion. 'I cannot go where I wish like your djinn friend. You follow an illusion, but it will be to safety. Please. You are headed in the right direction.'
    
      'I'd like some answers, Halah.' I pinged back. Despite the admission that my unknown empire citizen was using illusions on me, I got the distinct feeling I could trust her -- for now.
    
      'Soon.' She answered my first question, then my second: 'Yes. For now.'
    
      Halah was more in-tune to reading me than I was of her. Then again, she wasn't devoting a lot of mental attention to telekinesis. I "skated" over the rocky badlands for a few more meters until the ground became more and more sandy. It seemed to me I was heading inland, away from the road, and along with it, any easy navigable markings. The lamp-carrying figure just kept going.
    
      'How much longer?' I pinged. 'I will go back the way I came if I do not see you in ---' I picked a measurement a desert dweller might use. '--- seven dune crests.'
    
      'Twelve.' Halah immediately pinged back. 'I am sorry Stan Chen, but I cannot make exceptions for you.'
    
      I got the feeling she was telling the truth, or as much as she believed she was.
    
      'Twelve crests then.' I thought-spoke and began consciously counting so she'd know I stood by my word.
    
      'You are ...' Halah seemed to stumble for words. 'Very unforgiving.'
    
      I ignored her. If she was trying to distract me or lure me into chatter, I could easily be distracted from my current task. By the sixth crest, I noticed the ground was almost all sand. It was also night and dark as hell. The illusory figure in the distance cast no light, but the moon did. By the eighth rise, I could make out nothing but sand.
    
      When I arrived at the twelfth rise, the figure seemed to have vanished. However, I suspected that whoever this "Halah" was, she was likely in the small collection of mud huts (or what appeared to be; Masquerade herself was a tricky -- and skilled -- little bitch) at the base of the dune. A dim orange glow came from one of the windows, and almost immediately, the person called Halah thought-spoke.
    
      'You see where I am? Where the glow is.'
    
      'I see you.' I replied in our silent tongue. 'You are one of the invisible empire?'
    
      I sensed Halah's mild amusement as she answered me.
    
      'Not quite. But we are more kindred than you and your master.'
    
      'Tseng is my mentor.' I pinged back. 'He does not dictate what I do.'
    
      'Believe what you wish.'
    
      A shadow bulged from the side of the mud hut with the glow. It was the door opening. A robed figure, much like the one I had seen crossing the dunes effortlessly earlier, came out and beckoned me to enter.
    
      I stopped a few paces away, allowing my senses, both physical and mental, to adjust to the stranger who stood before me. At this range, we were in close enough proximity to probe one another far more easily. A woman was hidden away under the burqa. While the clothing made her appear like a mobile yurt, I could sense the figure under her covering was very sensual and inviting.
    
      'I see you are awake and well.' Halah thought-spoke with a wryness as soon as I made out her figure.
    
      'Sorry.' I fidgeted and thought of something else.
    
      'Inside. Quickly! Before we are found.'
    
      I obeyed, and slipped past her. The light inside the mud hut was a wick floating in camel lard, and there were two others inside: a nude man was sitting with similarly nude young girl rocking on his lap. Despite the dimness of the light, I recognized him instantly.
    
      "Ah-Pung?!"
    
    ===============================================================================
      WANDERING
    ===============================================================================
    
      I hated traveling at night. It conflicted with my sleep cycle, but I had to do it. Halah insisted on it, as it was the safest method to travel in a warzone. It allowed them some measure of cover from the "ifrit" -- Halah's name for unmanned aerial drones -- and the death they wrought.
    
      'It will be light soon.' She thought-spoke. 'I pray we arrive at our destination.'
    
      Her destination was no secret to any telepath within 10 meters, or to those who were probing her. My question though, was about --
    
      "Ann-druu?" Halah's contralto was quiet, yet sonorous.
    
      "Yes, he's my brother." I cast a look back.
    
      He and the young girl, a teenager a year or so older than Jillian, were walking quietly together. Andrew didn't recognize me one bit. In fact, he took my greeting as some sort of foreign cheer (or jeer), promptly switched positions with the girl in mid-coitus, and kept up his amorous activity until Halah came inside and told us we were leaving.
    
      "What happened to Andrew?" I asked, "What've you done to him?"
    
      'Nothing that he did not ask.' Halah stopped and pointed in the distance. 'We go there. Quickly! Before there is light.'
    
      "There" was another ramshackle gathering of mud huts in the middle of nowhere. While we were on foot, the lone camel which carried supplies made our journey a little easier. By now, I had figured that Halah was a gifted individual who had no particular skill with psychokinesis, but she was adept at obscuring presences, much like Melanie.
    
      The girl who was fucking Andrew was not Halah's daughter, although the two women shared some sort of bond, as she obeyed orders without question. Last night, when Halah gave the order to depart, the girl gently pushed Andrew off and dressed, leaving my brother with an unspent hard-on.
    
      I suppose that was why they were walking side-by-side now. Cute. Any questions I had though, needed to wait until we arrived. The sun was peeking over the edge of the horizon as our party approached the village. Halah wasted no time in leading the three of us through a maze of small, wretched alleys to an unmarked house.
    
      Once there, she did not knock, or make an audible sound. Instead, I could "hear" the mental chatter between Halah and another person -- a woman. The door to the house opened, and I saw a pair of eyes peek past a burqa.
    
      'Sister!' The woman in the house opened the door opened wide to let us in. Halah embraced our host briefly before business took over.
    
      'There is water and grass. Forty doors down.'
    
      'Forty?' Halah's thought-speech was incredulous. 'Things get worse and worse!'
    
      'I will take him.' That was the girl in our traveling party.
    
      'No, Alima.' Halah was adamant. 'You stay here. Stan Chen? I must ask you to accompany me.'
    
      'What for?' Normally, I would've responded aloud, but it seemed like I just walked into a nest of fellow citizens.
    
      'It is nearly morning.' Halah responded glumly. 'If I am to walk the streets, I must be accompanied by a man.'
    
      'Fine.' I looked at my attire. 'Won't we draw attention?'
    
      'Here.' The woman from the house pressed a neatly folded white street robe into my hands. It was a little large, but I dressed quickly and followed Halah and her camel down the street.
    
      'No, no.' Halah's impatience was evident. 'Walk ahead of me. And take the reins.'
    
      'For the record, I only tamed an animal once.' I confessed as I took hold of the leather strap. 'And that was a horse, years ago. I think if I did something like that now, I'd kill it.'
    
      'I am sure you can. But Farid is a humble servant. He will not disobey.'
    
      'Farid?' I didn't look back, but I managed to broadcast that I quirked my brow.
    
      'The camel.' Halah explained. 'My camel.'
    
      'Ah.'
    
      We walked down the street to a stall full of other camels. It looked like a pen, or maybe it was the Iraqi version of the used car lot. In any case, I had doubts about leaving Halah's ride there.
    
      'It will be all right.' Halah thought-spoke. 'We will be leaving again tonight.'
    
      'Again?' I asked her as we walked back towards the house. 'You haven't said much about yourself. Or answered my questions about my brother.'
    
      'Yes again.' The woman plodded a few steps behind me. 'I give you my word as one of the kingdom.'
    
      That was -- interesting.
    
      'Kingdom?' I pressed. 'You mean like Saudi Arabia? Or an emirate?'
    
      'No. I mean the hidden kingdom.' Halah thought-spoke. 'What you and your master call the invisible empire.'
    
    ===============================================================================
      COVEN
    ===============================================================================
    
      I found I could sleep, despite the awful heat, the bright light, and the fact that I had just found my brainwashed brother in the clutches of a mysterious band of women who had an idea of what the invisible empire was, but called it by a different name. Still, I had up all night traveling, and I was bone weary. I had questions, but I needed rest. I was as guarded as I ever was, but I could only be wary when awake. Once asleep, who knows what kind of crap these witches would do?
    
      'We are not like that, preying on you when you sleep.' That was how Halah greeted me as soon as I awoke.
    
      'I suppose not.' I thought back as my mind woke up. 'Was that how succubi came to be?'
    
      'Perhaps so, Stan Chen.'
    
      It was early evening, and the house was nearly empty. I saw Halah was kneeling by a cooking fire, the pot bubbling with a fragrant broth of lamb. Her burqa removed, I could see she was quite lovely. She wore only a short chemise. The rest of her body was bare. Her long tress of black hair was loosely braided, wrapped around her neck, and the tail end hung between her pendulous breasts.
    
      But it wasn't the transformation from a walking tent to a sensual woman that surprised me. I did not see the other woman who greeted us earlier, nor did I see --
    
      "Andrew!" I leapt to my feet, and Halah did the same. "Where is he?"
    
      'Stop!' She thought-spoke with fear and alarm. 'Make no noise! Can you not speak with your mind!? Or are you that clumsy?'
    
      'Where's my brother?' I sensed Halah's fear as I advanced menacingly towards her.
    
      'Don't you hurt her!'
    
      I stopped and glanced at the new presence that slowly revealed itself behind me. A slim girl, older than the one Andrew fucked last night, had snuck up behind me, a sharp little dagger pressed to the side of my body. It was difficult to gauge her age, but I hazarded that she wasn't much younger than Rosalind. She was dressed casually, in a T-shirt and loose jogging shorts.
    
      It appeared I was caught in a bind, but I had learned a few things over the years. Unfortunately, at that range, I had very little time to commit thoughts to action. As soon as I thought about what I was going to, Halah broadcast a warning, but it was too late. I quickly bent the tip of the dagger with telekinesis, then turned and grabbed the girl threatening me. To insure her cooperation, I emitted a typical brain-buzz I used to restrain someone.
    
      I felt a psychic assault emanating from Halah, but I lashed out with telekinesis. Only her gifts saved the witch from certain death. Unlike a 'normal', I needed time to breach another citizen's mental defences, and I couldn't do that if they were dead. I pulled mightily on the garment Halah wore, and spun her around to the floor.
    
      Around this time, I felt a numbing pain on my arm and looked down. The girl I had gripped was biting my arm down hard enough to draw blood. Buzzing her had apparently done nothing, so shifted my concentration a bit, shrouded my arm with as much "repelling force" I could muster, and clutched her neck tightly until she began to gasp for air.
    
      "You stop your struggling and you can breathe," I snapped. "Don't make me break your teeth, then your neck."
    
      The girl choked, sputtered, and clawed my arm uselessly until she finally grew limp. By now, Halah had got to her knees before I had come to grips and held her tightly in my grasp.
    
      'Have you gone mad!? Let us go!!!' Halah struggled to no avail.
    
      'What have you done with Andrew?!' I roared in her mind. 'If anything has happened to him ...'
    
      'Nothing has happened to him!!' The woman gasped for air. 'We meant no harm!'
    
      I pressed both of them down to the ground, and placed their hands behind their backs. Halah's coil of hair made for a fine restraint; I tied her wrists together with her hair, then used my own belt to bind the other girl.
    
      'That's fine.' I thought-spoke. 'I don't want to hurt you. I just need to rummage a bit to find out about Andrew.'
    
      'Wait, Stan Chen. You don't understand.'
    
      I stopped and gathered my concentration. I knew Halah was trying to persuade me, and I shook her off. I knew I didn't want to stop what I was going to do.
    
      "Stop Stanley!"
    
      I blinked, and saw a doppelganger of Janet writhing on the ground, trying to work free her bonds.
    
      'I'd tell you to get out of my mind, but you won't will you?' I thought-spoke.
    
      'No.' The thoughts were unmistakably Halah's, despite the fact "Janet" rolled herself into a sitting position.
    
      The earlier squeal was unmistakably Ling-Ling's, and would've fooled any 'normal' or even a citizen if he or she weren't wise to illusory tricks like the ones Bethany could do. Thankfully, I was. I stood my ground, unfazed and unbelieving.
    
      'Then a bargain: tell me about Andrew.' My thoughts were sober. 'And I won't tear your throat out for impersonating my wife.'
    
      The illusory form of Janet disappeared, and Halah quickly assumed her own appearance once more.
    
      'Agreed. Now please, untie us.'
    
    ===============================================================================
      KINDRED
    ===============================================================================
    
      We stayed in the village that night. That allowed me some semblance of rest and put my mind at ease as I methodically pinged and scanned all the inhabitants. Wherever it was, it had no name I recognized from agency intel. It didn't matter though; after my little chat with Halah, I think I needed a place to stay and sort things out.
    
      'It's not what you thought, was it?'
    
      I saw her watching me over the dying embers of the cookfire. A wick candle was providing what light the small hovel needed. Halah and her companion were unharmed, although the girl gave me a swift kick in the shin once she was freed. It hardly hurt because I dulled the impact of her blow, but I fidgeted as expected -- I did the same when the boys got a little rough playing "tackle-ball" (a mix of catch and touch-tag) so they'd know they were roughing up their old man.
    
      My sons got a kick out of getting one up on their office-dwelling dad, but this girl didn't. She knew I was faking my response and simply turned on her heel in a huff. We ate in silence while she gave me nasty looks over the cookfire. Once the sun had set, the girl had donned her burqa and slipped out to check on Farid, leaving me alone with Halah.
    
      'It wasn't what I expected.' I answered in thought-speak.
    
      The mysterious desert woman was a wildly exotic creature. She was a mix of Turkish, Greek, Asian, and the various Semitic tribesmen who migrated over the shifting sands of the Arabian Peninsula, and about my age. But as mixed-up as her lineage was, it was nowhere as mixed-up and bizarre as the story she related to me after she clarified what happened with Andrew.
    
      Halah had met him near Umm Qasr. As part of their order's creed, she and Alima (her travel companion) had been searching for suitable men on the delta when they felt some sort of "psychic aura" -- likely me when I mind-read Andrew -- and they engaged him in some chatter to find out more about him.
    
      Well, one thing lead to another, and before Halah knew it, Andrew had put forth the story of Sachiko and Ami. He then added that even though he was happy with Ameena, he was more than happy to forget about Sachiko and everything about her, even at the cost of long-term memory loss. Alima was attracted to him, and she eagerly granted him his wish, much to Halah's alarm.
    
      Since then, the two had been inseparable, although Halah admitted it was not unusual for one of her order to enslave a normal man for a few months. She and her peers were considered to be a witches' coven, or nymphs of old; the various stories of men who disappeared in the wilderness were rooted in the activities of her order in times past. And that was just the tip of the iceberg she was unveiling: there wasn't an invisible empire.
    
      Or at least, not any organization I was lead to believe. It was a goddamn free-for-all. There were a bunch of powerful gifted individuals taking hold of power, forming alliances as required, and "living" like an anarchistic commune. Halah had a name for our kind's civilization, the hidden kingdom, or more precisely, "kingdoms" as there seemed to be more than a few groups in existence.
    
      I suppose Halah could have lied, but it was difficult to disbelieve her as opposed to Tseng. For one, when my enigmatic mentor told me of the empire, I took his word for it. Not only was I was young and impressionable, but Tseng was impervious to mental probing.
    
      In Halah's case, she took my hands in hers and opened her mind to me. As I had shared with Viktoriya when we made physical contact, Halah did the same with me. The "invisible empire" was a convenient lie Tseng had impressed upon me for reasons all his own.
    
      'He lied from the moment he met you.' Halah thought-spoke as she studied me carefully from across the small room. 'But I believe he meant well.'
    
      That was true, I knew. Strangely enough, I did not feel betrayed, only shocked, for out of all the lies Tseng had spun, one thing remained unchanged regardless whether the empire existed or not: discovery meant death. That prime dictum -- that one rule -- didn't change, and it didn't matter what we called ourselves.
    
      Fear of discovery was one of the reasons Halah and her order traveled at night. They were a modern incarnation of the Dionysian cults that pre-dated Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. Halah, her history of the order being limited, believed it to be more ancient.
    
      From her tale, I knew why the coven was so secretive: they were capable of making very accurate predictions, using a combination of mind-reading and advanced mathematics. It wasn't pre-cognition, but it was damn close. This made them highly sought after through the centuries by men and women of power. Highly sought after also meant "hunted". The wild revels were another extension of truth -- few outsiders knew about their order.
    
      'Why show me?' I asked Halah.
    
      'Because you are ...' She struggled for the right thoughts. '... trust-worthy. I sense that in you, Stan Chen.'
    
      I didn't ask her to explain. Tseng had said something along those lines to me years ago. With the invisible empire a lie, I didn't know what else to think. I didn't think I even cared. For a moment, even with such an earnest revelation, I still dared to doubt her word.
    
      'What has he done to you?' Halah thought-spoke, my mistrust reflected in her gaze.
    
      My response was instant and succinct: 'Nothing.'
    
      'Or so you believe.' She shifted slightly and began rummaging through her travel bags. 'Stan Chen, I cannot persuade you that what I tell you is truth. But know this: in due time, you will be faced with a choice.'
    
      'What kind of choice?' I grew curious.
    
      'One of love and loyalty.'
    
      'With whom?' I thought-spoke, then I became apprehensive. 'And when?'
    
      'I ... I cannot say.' Halah shut her eyes for a moment. 'But do well to remember, for it has great meaning for you.'
    
      "One of your calculations?" I spoke in a hushed tone.
    
      'Yes.' Halah seldom bothered to speak normally. 'One that I did as soon as Alima seduced your brother.'
    
      'Interesting.' I thought-spoke.
    
      She cast a side-long glance at me. 'I had to know what lay before them.'
    
      I managed a pained smile as to her reasoning. 'And Andrew? What of him?'
    
      'He is your brother. A man.' Her response was to-the-point. 'As much as Alima wants him to stay, he cannot.'
    
      'I meant his future.' I thought-spoke, but Halah was dismissive.
    
      'For now, he will be fine in Alima's hands.'
    
      I'll say, I thought privately. Not to mention her company. It was irony, I thought. After the incident with Melanie's brother, my own damn brother was sleeping with a girl no older than Jillian.
    
      But at least Tony was happy now. That young woman in Viktoriya's dance studio had proved to be quite the little bizzo. Melanie was shocked (and less than pleased) to find the two fucking in _her_ bed after coming home early from work one night. Thankfully the kids were with me at Janet's (which I suppose, was the whole reason for Anthony using his sister's condo as a fuck-pad).
    
      I watched as Halah pulled out an old National Geographic map and spread it on the ground. She did not need a lot of light to read, for she was employing biointroscopy. Presently, the girl came back in. From my time with Halah's thoughts, I knew it was her daughter, Noorah. The young woman slipped off her burqa once she was safely indoors.
    
      'Mother? What now?'
    
      'Hush child.' Halah brushed her off. 'The night is still young. Speak with our guest. Do not anger him again.'
    
      As quickly as Noorah hid her distaste for me, I knew she was miffed from how her nostrils flared. From Halah's tale, I knew her order were comprised only of women. It wasn't sexual discrimination as much as it was a practical method to keep their organization's members limited. A man could sire many descendants with different women, but a woman, in control of her body, could elect to birth any number of children she desired.
    
      For Halah's order, their practices mandated each woman to birth at least one child, preferably two, and both of them girls. This meant the coven controlled who had access to their secret mathematical formulas that allowed them to make their eerily accurate predictions.
    
      While not every girl thus born was gifted, the calculations being made could be done by 'normal' individuals; calculus and hypergeometry were teachable subjects, unlike psionics.
    
      Male offspring were given away to adoptive parents where possible; exposure was a last resort (and generally reserved for gifted boys). In the case where one of their order could not (or would not) give up her son, she would be cast out, her knowledge of the order and its formulas forcibly erased through a combination of mental contamination and mind-altering drugs.
    
      The order also replenished its ranks in a very controlled way: when a woman reached her early thirties, she would take journey with a young girl as a companion and go out seeking a suitable mate. This companion may sometimes be her actual daughter, or a niece, or a friend's daughter. The young companion would be impregnated, and occasionally the chaperone would be knocked up as well. This was the preferred approach, as the outcome of the coupling did not always produce girls.
    
      From this outing, the coven would hopefully get their next generation of acolytes. Halah was doing precisely that with Alima when they encountered Andrew. Normally, the coupling would've taken a few days or so at most (to insure impregnation), but Halah's charge became enamored with my brother's good looks, and decided to keep him around for a little while longer.
    
      Halah, more methodical and in control, did not want Andrew around. In fact, she was wondering how to return him to the outside world when I showed up. My battle at the insurgent compound hadn't gone unnoticed, and my careless psychic pinging practically screamed "I AM LOOKING FOR ANDREW CHEN. HAVE YOU SEEN HIM?!" Almost instantly, Halah and the rest of her coven were alerted to my presence.
    
      'She is young.' The desert beauty caught my anxiety and reassured me once more. 'She will tire of him.'
    
      'When? He has a woman waiting for him at home.' I thought back.
    
      At that thought, Noorah scoffed audibly. Her mother hushed her again while I ignored the moody girl and proceeded with my exercises. As I slowly raised myself into a handstand with some telekinetic assistance, I picked up some of their chatter: 'His brother is just like him.' 'Do you mean his wives?' 'Of course! When will men tire of that practice?' 'It is not our place to say, child.' 'I do not like him.' 'Temper, Noorah. Please do not think such rudeness; it's no secret he can hear us.'
    
      I was standing on both hands now, my telekinesis slowly waning, allowing my body to physically work itself. I understood Noorah's anger wasn't necessarily at my polygamy, but rather at how I represented the Westerners rampaging through her ancestral home.
    
      I apologized to them both, though I kept mum about my business with my "interviewees" at the detention centers. I'm sure though, that they both knew what I did already. At this range, the only secrets I could keep were the ones I weren't thinking of -- and there were precious few of them.
    
      'That is all right.' Halah's voice spoke chimed softly in my mind. 'You must understand Stan Chen, most of us live here. It is our home.'
    
      'Tell me about it.' I responded automatically.
    
      The desert seer didn't seem to pick up on my reflexive response and continued: 'Our youth know about the past, see the present, and are angry about the future. They have no outlet save the militias.'
    
      'All run by men.' Noorah added with contempt.
    
      'Yes.' Halah put a gentle hand on the teenager. 'They need to understand that the rest of the world does not hate them; they just do not understand why we suffer in silence.'
    
      'Motherrrr ...'
    
      I chuckled at the by-play between Halah and Noorah. It reminded me of the disagreements Jillian and Jamie were starting to have as my stepdaughter approached womanhood. As soon as I thought it, both mother and daughter picked up on it.
    
      Halah's mouth twitched as Noorah shot a shock of surprise at her. The girl's eyes flashed angrily at her mother, then at me before she quickly averted her gaze. I caught something -- a twitter of embarrassment -- before I sensed nothing again from the two women in the room.
    
      Having ate and with nowhere to go that night (we were too late to start off to another safehouse), I continued my exercises until the sun rose. I wagered that we'd be leaving the next night, so I'd best grab what sleep I could in the day. I was right.
    
    ===============================================================================
      THE PAINTED DESERT
    ===============================================================================
    
      I accompanied Halah north (I think). As already noted, she and her sister "seers" (or witch-seers, for lack of a better term) moved from safehouse to safehouse at night, avoiding using the same place for months, even years at a time, in order to keep those people who wanted to pursue them confused.
    
      The only time they would stop for a long period of time was in the late stages of pregnancy, and for a few years or so after giving birth. During that time, it was to either survey a family and give the boy up for adoption, or to train and strengthen the girl so she may take on the rigors of constant traveling.
    
      With their mental ability to shroud themselves, the sisters could move amongst the gifted who knew to seek them out. As much as I could "read" Halah, I didn't know how many of my kind knew about the order. Her mental shrouding prevented me from digging deeper. I could read Noorah more, but she didn't know much. I suppose it was an OPSEC (operational security) procedure. While coupling, the younglings could accidentally yield information to the man she was fucking.
    
      'Vulgar.' The desert woman admonished me. 'But correct.'
    
      Halah might've been preoccupied with keeping an eye on me, Noorah, and her camel, Farid, but she caught onto my curiosity about the similarity between her mental shrouding and Melanie's latent abilities.
    
      'She may be like us.' Halah thought-spoke simply. 'But she would not be trained. Does she ---?'
    
      'She hears the occasional thought.' I responded, and left it at that.
    
      If Halah wanted to comment more on the brooding thoughts I entertained, she kept to herself. The desert beauty had enough to do as she plodded along, deeply concentrating on a mental meeting with her fellow sisters on the issue of Andrew and Alima. It was rude of me to eavesdrop, but being so close, it was almost impossible to keep me out.
    
      I picked up enough to know Halah was true to her word: Andrew was to be returned to "normal" and dropped off. The problem was that he was MIA/AWOL so long, it would be hard to explain his extended absence without arousing suspicion in the military establishment.
    
      I suggested to Halah that I should explain what was to be expected. This way, there would be any undo suspicion to threaten revealing her coven. When the witches kidnapped a man, they ditched him after erasing his memories. In recent times, they've found themselves hard-pressed to use "magic" and the "supernatural" to explain these lapses in memory.
    
      Drugs were a possibility, but apart from the fact Andrew wasn't a substance abuser, I didn't want that stigma attached to him. I suggested a more plausible excuse for his prolonged absence.
    
      The nomad witch was suspicious, but she knew my words matched my intentions. With her introduction, I injected myself into their conversation, and suggested that Andrew be "found" by a patrol in the hands of some insurgents. Almost immediately, the idea was rejected.
    
      'Those you call "terrorists" are our brothers, fathers, uncles, nephews, cousins, and sons.' One of the witch-seers thought-spoke curtly. 'I would not ask you to put your family in danger for the return of one of our sisters.'
    
      Those mind-linked to the meeting were about to eject me, before I proposed a compromise solution.
    
      'How about your enemies?' I pinged quickly. 'Halah tells me there are those hunting your order; are there any who may be also enemies of my country? Maybe I can arrange a trade -- I take care of your enemies, and I get my brother a plausible method to go home.'
    
      'He speaks like one of them.' I sensed a snide thought from one of them; I had a feeling it was either Alima or Noorah, but I wasn't sure.
    
      There was a generally hub-bub of suggestions and names I never heard of before one thought came through.
    
      'Yes. There may be one.'
    
      Presently, the face of a man I didn't know came to me. He wasn't familiar, but he bore the same swarthy countenance as the bandits and dealers I had dealt with on the Mexican border. Soon after I "saw" this man, a location came to me.
    
      I could innately sense Alima was leading Andrew towards the man's compound, while Halah was leading me to the same destination. Apparently, a decision had been reached, and our party would arrive at the place before night was out.
    
      The witches were offering me a deal: I was to do them a favor, and in return, I would get my brother back. I snickered inwardly, but at the same time, wondered if I was being manipulated by powers greater than I. I didn't dwell on it much; I had a task to do.
    
    ===============================================================================
      THE LONG WAY BACK
    ===============================================================================
    
      Alima called me every filthy name she could think of in her broken English before her mother, the woman who met Halah at the safehouse a few days ago, took her away and scolded the tearful teen. As bad as I felt for the girl, I was glad I got my brother back.
    
      The cost to Alima were a few more weeks of passion, and possibly a child my brother might have sired but would have no knowledge of. I knew it wouldn't matter: Alima and her mother (or another chaperone) would find another candidate.
    
      For Andrew, he got his memories up to the moment when his mind was wiped at Umm Qasr; from there on out, it took a combined effort between me, Halah, and Alima to fabricate his kidnapping by a mercenary and his band of cut-throats. My brother wouldn't remember much apart from being snatched, then stuffed in the base when "something" (i.e., me) happened on the place and killed everyone there.
    
      The mercenary leader was literally beside himself by the time Andrew was secured inside the compound; I made sure of that myself by wrapping the bastard's midsection with a hand grenade and shoving him out one of an upper story window. The four witch-seers did not accompany me into the base, and for good reason. They would've only gotten in my way as I engaged in my slaughter.
    
      I didn’t escape entirely unharmed myself, and had taken a bullet-graze on the arm. The shooter saw me because I was a little rushed, but he didn't get another chance before I snapped his neck and puppeteered his body to clear out the rest of courtyard.
    
      Dead and broken men littered the place, and I bore a heavy heart that my brother would awaken to such carnage. But I had little choice in the matter. That in mind, I did my best to mitigate the carnage, and arranged it so that it appeared two factions had slaughtered one another, absolving Ah-Pung of any potential guilt.
    
      I also did one more thing -- I "placed" (or implanted) the memory of Sachiko and the slip of rice paper. I had to be careful, or not only I'd do lasting damage to my brother's brain, but also screw up my plan. All Andrew remembered was that he had, in a moment of great misery, wrote an apology on a little slip, put it on Sachiko's ring, and intended to give it to her before she moved to Seattle.
    
      That seemed logical to me: I caught Ami slipping out of Andrew's bedroom around November last year, and they had met during Rachelle's party for her new job. My black beauty had started her job at LucasArts in mid-October.
    
      I found myself grinning despite what had just happened. If there was one thing about the Brothers Chen, it was that they were able to bed their women quickly. With my little plot in place, I gathered some items I needed from the compound's supply room: some water canteens, towels (more like rags or kiffiyah), and some toilet amenities.
    
      Although Halah and her sisters weren't nearby, they did do one thing while I was away on business: they contacted a military commander and "suggested" to him to send a patrol towards the mercenaries' place to look for missing personnel. They would find Andrew, and hopefully, that would be that.
    
      Unfortunately, this presented other problems as well: I wasn't supposed to be in Iraq. Although I wanted to stay with my brother and make sure he was safe, I knew I couldn't squelch enough minds before the military would create a report about the incident. Once that occurred, the agency would catch wind of me.
    
      And I had ruled out the displacement option. I had grown leery of contacting Ghost Light ever since Masquerade could do some light mind-reading. With the "invisible empire" being Tseng's concoction, I wouldn't be too sure if I could keep this little jaunt a secret.
    
      I wasn't sure whose side was Bethany on. Even if she didn't blackmail me, she could let it slip and the agency, or Tseng, would have something more about me. I wanted no trace of this, and for that, I had to rely on my new found "buddettes". I contented myself with staying back a bit (about six miles away) and using mind-sight and mind-hopping to insure my brother's safety.
    
      Only when a squad found him and ran his ID card (Alima had kidnapped him with all his papers), did I relax. Andrew would probably get a chewing out for wandering around on the delta, but he'll be safe. Some soldiers would get some medals, and if the lunk-head had his memories done right, he'd be exonerated of any complications in his disappearance, come home, and make nice with Ami and Sachiko.
    
      I lingered until sundown, mentally shadowing my brother. I only relaxed when the convoy wrapped his dehydrated butt in a spare flak jacket, sat him in a Humvee, and zipped back to base.
    
      'You care deeply for your brother.' Halah thought-spoke the obvious.
    
      I knew she knew that I did, so I only sagged against the dusty wall of our temporary abode, my mind tired and my body worn. The bullet had left an angry welt on my arm where its flight had singed my shirt and seared my skin.
    
      'What now?' Noorah thought-spoke.
    
      The teen was still haughty, though she tip-toed around me now. After seeing what I was capable of, I could see the fear just behind her pretty sun-bleached face.
    
      'Yes, Stan Chen.' It was Halah. 'What now? Why did you not go with your soldiers? Go home?'
    
      'It's complicated.'
    
      I didn't want to think about the complexities of maintaining the fiction of the empire anymore, but I had done it for so long, it came naturally. The invisible empire. My gifts. My family. My darlings. Viktoriya. The agency. Mirage. Masquerade. Ghost-Light. Tseng.
    
      All of that swirled in my head as I realized that I had a part in perpetuating Tseng's lie -- Richard, Darrell, Galen, Kari, Carrie-Ann, Cristobel, Feodor -- were they all in on the lie? Or were they duped as I was?
    
      For the first time in a long time, I felt lost. I didn't know what to do. What did it all mean? What was the invisible empire? Was Tseng planning something? What was he doing? Heck. Fuck that. What was I doing? Who did I work for? Was I furthering someone else's goals all along?
    
      "Here."
    
      I blinked and looked up at the sound of the hushed voice. It was Halah, who held out a small canteen made from a goat's bladder. I made a face as she mentally scolded me.
    
      'I know what you are thinking: that the water here is dirty. But it may surprise you to know that I had boiled it yesterday. It is safe to drink.'
    
      'Sorry.' I took a grateful swig of the lukewarm water. Compared to the heat outside, it was pretty damn refreshing.
    
      'We will need to stay here today, but there is not much water.' Halah complained.
    
      'The --' Noorah thought something in her native tongue, denoting weasel, sell-out, and criminal '-- fortress had a well, I think.'
    
      I shook my head and thought-spoke. 'Won't do you much good. The well's polluted.'
    
      'Why would the well be polluted?' Noorah was incredulous.
    
      'Because I tossed a body in there.'
    
      'Imbecile!!' The girl was furious. 'Do you know how precious fresh water is in the desert?!'
    
      Halah was annoyed -- although I wasn't sure if she was annoyed with me or her hot-headed daughter -- and did her best to calm the situation as I continued.
    
      'It wouldn't be a good idea to go back. There will likely be aerial surveillance thanks to this patrol. If we leave, we should be careful.' I thought soberly.
    
      The desert sage "listened" carefully as I explained how the agency's drones and satellites worked (and were networked, thanks the lessons the agency learned using ECHELON). Although the witch-seer had some knowledge of the "ifrit" (UAVs) and their ties to ground spotters, she wasn't aware that satellites were constantly monitoring the Gulf region and other hot-spots around the world.
    
      'My God.' Halah's eyes grew wide. 'I thought they could not see us in the dark. Even the ones in the sky.'
    
      'The tech's changed over the years. Night, day, bad weather. They can do it.' I thought-spoke. 'And since I work for them, I might be considered another one of their systems.'
    
      She studied me curiously. 'You -- you harbor a disdain for them. I feel it.'
    
      I shrugged. Agent Cox wasn't one to instill loyalty out of respect. He was more of a closet blackmailer, which suited the agency and the likes of me just fine.
    
      'Motherrr ... what do we do now?' Noorah's universal cry for attention was so common for teenaged girls, it made me chuckle inwardly.
    
      Halah knitted her brow, thinking. After a few moments, she came to a decision.
    
      'We head back. Same house as yesterday.'
    
    ===============================================================================
      THE MORE THINGS CHANGE, THE MORE THEY REMAIN THE SAME
    ===============================================================================
    
      It was unusual for the two women, to go back to the same safehouse -- especially one so spartan -- they had used just days before. However, it was a strangely welcome sight for me, and I gladly went around town, grabbing the little things we needed for the cookfire.
    
      We ate lamb again, although this time, Halah had found some beans and lettuce from a vendor. Knowing how farmers in this region generally used human feces as fertilizer, I made sure the foodstuffs were boiled thoroughly before I partook in the meal. There was almost no water left in the pot by the time I actually ate. The meal was one of the blandest I've ever had, but I didn't get sick.
    
      Halah and I discussed how we could proceed back towards the UAE, preferably through Kuwait, so I could hire a boat and go home. For the desert seer, Kuwait -- especially Kuwait City -- was not a place she considered "safe".
    
      She was more comfortable with small villages in the desert, away from the bustle of people. However, in exchange for the information I had given her about some agency operations, she felt a mild sense of obligation to at least accompany me towards the border (which, strangely enough, was marked by a small gathering of mud-huts on the outskirts of Umm Qasr).
    
      We talked until the sun rose over the horizon. Everything in this alien world of endless sand and rock fascinated me. The endless wars, the vicious militias, and political back-stabbing were done by people in power.
    
      Sheiks, warlords, and strongmen reigned with a free hand, and the weak were mercilessly dealt with. The witch-seers were more subtle in their approach. With male "prophets" being prevalent, it was unusual to hear of the order, unless one was truly, deeply educated about the shadowy world of the "hidden kingdom".
    
      As much as I learned from Halah, she found me equally fascinating. The high-rises and cities she sought to avoid, both thrilled and frightened her. It helped that my visit to the housing tower I had helped draft the plans for were still fresh in my mind; the skyline on the 96th floor was particularly impressive, especially at sunset, and I told her thus. Nevertheless, Halah personally feared cities would make her too vulnerable.
    
      'Too many people to hide from.' She thought-spoke. 'Too much death.'
    
      The constant attacks on hears on television were done by rural people against urbanites. Those with nothing much to live for, desperate to sell themselves to those in power so that their families would not starve. In a land where a person's body was his (or her) most valuable asset, martyrs came cheap by agency standards. Nonetheless, I showed her what I could of the cities. The new methods of agronomy, housing, sanitation, travel -- all the little things I had taken for granted all my life.
    
      'You could live quite comfortably in one.' I thought-spoke. 'You need not deny yourself.'
    
      'No. The old rites were held away from the city.' Halah responded. 'You must understand Stan Chen -- we cannot risk everything for a few creature comforts.'
    
      'So, you predict the future.' I countered. 'I don't understand why it would be taken as gospel. You already say that it is neither perfect, and it is not immutable, as you figure things out with what's being done now.'
    
      'But can you imagine it?' She shot me an angry look. 'Those in power would keep things the way they are. And change things to thwart the futures they see as unfavorable to them.'
    
      Halah remained adamant as she continued. 'Do not neglect the power of faith. You may lack it, but it does not mean others do.'
    
      I scratched my head. That was indeed true. Given a chance, I probably would affect changes to insure a future that was favorable to me. And dogmatic religion did have an allure to the uninitiated. If the agency's bosses had this kind of thing going for them, who knows what they'd do?
    
      Heck, who knows what the various churches would do as well? Maybe use the witches to create a new messiah. Or several competing ones. Now that was a frightening thought.
    
      Halah managed to draw me into talking about topics I generally didn't discuss with my darlings: chiefly politics, religion, personal beliefs, society, and people in general. I avoided those topics simply because I knew them to be shams, although I did manage to learn enough to bullshit my architectural clients.
    
      Having been able to read minds from a young age, and growing up in a secular household, I found politics and religion the most ludicrous of human concepts. I found it more odd that each had more ardent followers than other pedestrian interests -- like American Idol or Monty Python's Flying Circus.
    
      The desert woman chided me, playing to my sense of cynicism. Unlike covens, she maintained, cults were one good example of mixing belief with actions that encompassed a larger meaning.
    
      'Did you know that some of the great and infamous leaders of old were men and women like us?' Halah thought-spoke.
    
      'You mean like Alexander the Great?' I responded.
    
      'Likely yes.' She cast a sideways glance at me. 'Though they are not called as such. Only now, with this Internet, can we record our scriptures.'
    
      'You kept records?' That was interesting. I wondered how much it would compromise the empire -- or the hidden kingdom.
    
      'It will be complicated to break the cipher.' Halah explained. 'And we only keep records in iconographics, much like you!'
    
      I had to grin at her realization of how we encoded our memories and messages.
    
      'My sisters and I record as much as we can.' She continued. 'Since we are nomadic, we cannot keep large libraries. Your country's Internet and computers have helped us greatly. Some of us are keeping our records in a new way.'
    
      'See, we're not all that bad.' I mentally joked.
    
      'No, not always.' Her response showed some mirth. 'But then again, we are not all --' Halah used a term that was a strange mix of Arabic and Hebrew (probably Aramaic), but I got the gist from her thoughts: "We're not all of one mind / good or bad, either."
    
      I glanced at her oddly and asked her to explain.
    
      'Some tyrants and despots have been acute in their ability to read others, because they possess our gifts. Not necessarily the sisterhood's formulae, but simply being able to pick up on others' intentions.'
    
      'Any examples?' I wondered.
    
      Halah took a few moments before she responded.
    
      'The one you call Adolf Hitler was probably one like us. He was very persuasive.'
    
      'I don't know about that.' I countered. 'Much of his mythology came after he died.'
    
      Halah shrugged. 'I can only guess from what was recorded. I have never met him to read his mind.'
    
      That's disturbing, I thought. A mind-reader in a position of 'normal' power. I wondered how it hadn't happened yet. Was that something Tseng was plotting? Or was he up to something else?
    
      'You feel it to be true, don't you?' Noorah thought-spoke.
    
      Both Halah and I looked at the teen. She had sat quietly by and listened to both of us mind-chat through the early morning before, and the early evening now as we packed and readied to head to the border.
    
      'I'd rather not think about it.' I started my thought, but the girl quickly avoided my gaze and stepped outside with her pack.
    
      Halah, embarrassed by her daughter's dismissiveness, motioned to me that she was ready to leave. I threw on the robes, picked up my things and followed her outside.
    
      It took us another day to get to get past the dunes. Normally, something that insignificant I used TK-skating to navigate. Unfortunately, Halah and Noorah had to walk. I should've swiped some camels from the village, but the olive-skinned woman had forbade me from doing so.
    
      'Those creatures are not for us to take.'
    
      So, I plodded along at a snail's pace, and seethed. I calculated that by the time I made it back to Dubayy, I'd be more than a week overdue. This would set off alarms for my wives, and likely, the agency too. By the time we reached what passed for a road, I found the truck I had abandoned a few days earlier. No one had come by to steal or inspect it.
    
      Damn. Parts of Iraq _were_ a wasteland straight out of a Mad Max movie. No wonder Faraz's family left for the United States.
    
      'Who is Faraz?' Halah's voice chimed in my mind.
    
      'A friend.' I thought-spoke back. 'C'mon. Into the truck you two. Even if you're used to walking, I'm not.'
    
      'But Farid!' The desert seer protested. 'He cannot be carried can he?'
    
      Shit. I forgot about that camel of hers. Halah wouldn't budge and I wasn't in a position to make anyone do anything. So, I stuck by the two nomadic women and plodded on towards the border.
    
    ===============================================================================
      DESERT VISION
    ===============================================================================
    
      We reached our destination after another day or so. I was exhausted, despite using telekinesis to help with my travel. My injury from the battle was bandaged, but the constant chafing from the robes weren't helping. Halah did her best to egg me onward; although she had no reason to accompany me to Kuwait, she thought it helpful to break away from the usual pattern she was accustomed to.
    
      'To throw them off our tracks.' She explained in thought-speech.
    
      Besides politics and religion, Halah also found time to badger me about Faraz, so I told her about him. Although both of them were Iraqi, the desert woman and her daughter didn't care for Faraz's excesses in Vegas, or his choice of career in finance. Noorah in particular, was especially spiteful.
    
      'See what my mother means about city dwelling?' Noorah was disdainful. 'It changes people.'
    
      'Not like it matters now.' I thought-spoke.
    
      'How come?'
    
      'Faraz is long dead. He was at the World Trade Center when it was hit.'
    
      Halah hushed Noorah before she could agitate the discussion further. Along with the sudden rush of mental imagery the two women got from me about 9/11, there were other things tied to it too: Andrew's happiness with Ami, the dirty business of bio-terror, the rise of domestic terror, and the deaths of Jon-Peter, Faraz, and Aurora. Halah picked up those thoughts, silently chided Noorah to behave.
    
      'I offer my sorrow for your loss.' The woman's thought-speech was reserved.
    
      'As do I.' I thought-spoke. 'There's been too much of it, lately.'
    
      'There's always been misery.' Halah corrected me. 'More people know of it now thanks to your machines. The more people know, the more our order is aware, yes?'
    
      I felt a slight chill down my spine. More records. More awareness. Halah was thinking very much like Tseng.
    
      'Not completely.' The desert beauty thought-spoke. 'He differs from us.'
    
      'How?' I dared to think the question.
    
      'Your master is not what we regard as "psionic".' She thought-spoke the only term that we both understood.
    
      I sat up with interest. 'What was that?'
    
      "Your master," Halah spoke aloud but softly, "He is not like us at all. He mimics our powers."
    
      I focused my telekinesis and gouged a finger-wide gash in the rough stone floor.
    
      'I learned this from observing him.' I thought-spoke.
    
      The dune-hopping beauty could only shrug. 'However he is doing it, it is not how we do things. And it is not how _you_ did that, despite what you think.'
    
      'That's impossible.' I shook my head. 'I _know_ I can. It's telekinesis.'
    
      'No, Stan Chen.' Halah seemed to sigh. 'It's not. Whatever you are doing, you are doing it because of your affinity to mimic as he --' she seemed to pause '-- or your proximity to another.'
    
      Viktoriya? I wondered. That could be. She was the only psychokineticist I had not only touched, but been physically intimate with. Despite my interactions with Tseng, I had shaken his hand but once, the second time we met, and he had been wearing black patent leather gloves.
    
      Halah's dark eyes glimmered with curiosity as she read my mind. 'This is why you cannot find him as easily.'
    
      'Because I never touched him?'
    
      She nodded in reply.
    
      'Wait. I don't get it.' I thought back. 'I can barely locate you and Noorah --' the girl perked up slightly at being mentioned but contributed nothing '-- and that doesn't explain what you did to hide Andrew from me. Plus, I can sense you now. And what about my wife, Melanie?'
    
      Halah paused a bit before she elaborated in a quick mind-burst of imagery and explanation: her orders of witch-seers could extend her mind-shroud to another by altering his or her thoughts. By "not thinking" like the person did before, the mental-marking would be undone if the citizen tracking the target wasn't aware of the change.
    
      'Alima did so when she erased your brother's memories.' The desert rose was as fascinated with how the incident played out as I was. 'Perhaps you are in tune with his thoughts before, but were waylaid when they were changed?'
    
      'Interesting.' Given my frequent lapses in tracking Andrew, it made sense.
    
      I pinged, and found that the explanation was tolerably plausible. I could easily locate Wei-Pung now. He was back in the base near Al-Basrah, being looked over by medical staff, and being chewed out by his army liaison for wandering away during his outing.
    
      'And my wife, Melanie?' My questions about Andrew answered, I pinged forth my other question.
    
      Halah looked thoughtful, but her mind was a mental mask, much like my little Lady Chen. I could barely sense that she was trying to form an answer, but before the older woman could, Noorah thought-spoke.
    
      'So trusting, you are of us.'
    
      I looked to the side and saw the teen was kneeling quietly by the other corner, her slim form leaning against the dusty wall of the mud shack. Seeing her turn her gaze away, I chuckled, drawing a quiet -- almost imperceptible -- mental barb from Halah that was meant for her daughter.
    
      I glanced at Halah oddly, and she stared back at me with a cool, level glance. Despite the nomads' preference for the desert, they weren't above taking a bath at the river delta. In the early pre-dawn morning, there'd be no one to see two naked women and a man scrubbing themselves clean with the salty seawater. It wasn't something I relished, but it was better than having no bath at all. I washed and rinsed myself after emptying my waste away from the water's edge.
    
      Now, the three of us were in an abandoned house near the border. It was a "temporary" safehouse Alima and Halah had used before they found Andrew standing quietly at the delta's edge, not really fishing, but just day-dreaming about home, Sachiko, and Ameena. Noorah was oddly quiet.
    
      I knew that the girl harbored a dislike for me since I half-choked her the day we met. The dislike morphed into disdain and fear after I sacked the outlaws' base. However, apart her one angry barb over what I had done to the well, Noorah remained quiet and reserved around me.
    
      Tonight though, the girl kept to herself. When I had glanced at her earlier in the evening, I noticed she always had her gaze at the fire, or the wall, or the window. Basically, anywhere except me. I thought she'd grown tired of her game from either being scolded by Halah, or because I simply ignored her when she tried to provoke me.
    
      I remembered when Kady was going through her "terrible twos", she'd scream and scream until Shawn picked her up. When that little hard-head was with me though, I didn't care for that, so I let her cry herself hoarse (much to Shawn's consternation) and ignored Kady (I wore earplugs) until she could communicate her wants by tugging me and pointing, or by using her baby words. I wondered if that was how Noorah was behaving now, the little brat ...
    
      At that thought, the girl whipped her head 'round to glare at me. Strangely enough, she wasn't all mad. In fact, her cheeks reddened and I "felt" the rush of blood to her head as her heart began pounding. My thoughts of my family jarred the two's normally disciplined mental defences. And as soon as that happened, a small sliver of Halah's thoughts crept through to me -- and gave me the shock of my life.
    
      Halah was trying to find the best way to ask me to impregnate her daughter. I did a double take, and shifted my concentration. I quickly closed off my own senses and tried to defend myself, but it was a little too late.
    
      'Stan Chen.' Her voice sang through mind, sonorous as a lullaby, and as smooth as silk. 'I do this not simply because of my order's vows, but because I find you ... handsome.'
    
      'You -- you what?' I blinked, my mind was slow as molasses. Damn! How the hell?! I hadn't felt like this before. Somehow, I knew I was being persuaded, or at least subjugated, but I earnestly couldn't do a --
    
      'Do not resist.' The desert woman crept slowly towards me on all fours, like a jungle cat. 'I am earnest with you; I mean you no harm ... and I think you will enjoy this small pleasure.'
    
      "Ha--Halah. Stop," I tried to stand, but only managed to remain on all fours. Somehow, I found the ground more satisfying, and decided to lie down.
    
      Bad mistake, dumb-ass. Somehow, the well-trained part of my mind found the time to chide me for being a stupid dip-shit.
    
      I had let my guard down and grown complacent around two fairly hot women who were gifted in ways I didn't know. They'll probably chop you up for dog-meat, or what ever the hell eats meat around here. Thoughts of my wives weeping and wailing over my absence came to fore, and I struggled to regain control.
    
      Halah picked up my thoughts and inner desires. She quickly slid over me, greatly magnifying her power over me. She was nude now, her short slip having long been discarded in a heap next to me. I could see her sinewy, strong muscles glisten with what little sweat had not evaporated in the dry desert air. The cookfire was still burning, and in the red afterglow, I saw the sun weathered skin of the witch-seer.
    
      She was beautiful, but the harshness of the desert and the region wore on her. She wore a proud nose, much like Ghandia, and Hala's eyes were dark and brooding as they bore deep into mine. I had a feeling of what she was trying to do -- either erase my memories, or filch them. I fell back instantly on my mental training, and hit back. Halah warded off of my attempts to buzz her and thought-spoke.
    
      'Do not fight me, Stan Chen.' She seemed a bit annoyed. 'I am only trying to set you at ease for what we are about to do.'
    
      'If you've gone through me enough, then you know that I need no trickery to do that.'
    
      The wandering witch wore an expression of brief confusion before she stumbled onto my memories of the illicit affairs that I had. Before she could recover, I seized her tightly by the wrists, then (with the aid of telekinesis) flipped her over on her back, with my body pressing down on her.
    
      "Mother!!!"
    
      Those were the first words I had heard Noorah utter aloud in 'normal' speech since I met her, but as surprising as that was, I did not waver in my concentration.
    
      'Be still, Noorah!'
    
      The woman, despite being in a position where she could be raped, exhibited no fear. Clearly, Halah was the more dangerous creature in the room. Noorah remained at a distance, trying to hammer past the defences I put up, but I remained unswayed.
    
      I felt the olive-skinned beauty's body stiffen as I held her down. For a brief moment, I thought about simply getting up and leaving -- after all, I had what I came for, and I had out-stayed my welcome. But where the mind was willing, the flesh was pretty damn weak.
    
      Halah, nude and splayed helpless under me, was too much to deny. I dared a quick sideways glance at the witch-seer's daughter, and saw that she was curled up, sitting with her arms around her shins. I could sense Noorah was nervous, her heart racing, and her mind all a jitter. I looked at the woman I held under me with a firm, determined look, and spoke into her mind.
    
      'It is not customary for me to take a woman by force.' I was a little dizzy and disoriented, but I was otherwise fine. 'Just tell me what you want of me.'
    
      'Very well.' Halah relaxed, if just a little. 'I wish for you, Stan Chen, to bed me and my daughter, so we may bear children for the Order of Sybaris.'
    
    ===============================================================================
      OASIS
    ===============================================================================
    
      Needless to say, I was unabashedly friendly with both women for the rest of my time in Iraq. For a "temporary" safe house, the place got to be quite an oasis of pleasure. Between the three of us, we managed to "persuade" a few of the nearby villagers to drop off a small portion of their labors for the day: some wood, coal, and oil for the fire; water for cooking; meat and vegetables for our meal. It was theft, but that was how Halah and her sister witch-seers survived.
    
      One of the items Halah insisted we steal was honey. A small jar (about six ounces) of honey for the women to sweeten the taste of my cock before they slobbered on it to lube up. It was either that, or using a little of the melted lard for lubrication.
    
      As weird as that was, it was nowhere as weird as that first night (or was it day?) when Halah invited me to take her. Once she informed me of her intentions, I took her up on her offer. I fucked the desert blossom as her daughter watched us.
    
      In return for keeping my memories, I went and pleasured Halah slowly. By resting one of her legs firmly against my chest and shoulder, while I straddled her other leg, my cock could penetrate her while she lay on her side, allowing Halah to instruct Noorah while facing her.
    
      'See here, daughter.' Halah tried remaining cool despite her situation. 'You see a man aroused and taking me. The pain will be brief, but he will be quick.'
    
      Yeah right, I thought dourly. Bitch, the last time you fucked, gasoline was selling for less than $1.50 (U.S.) a gallon.
    
      I decided to throw a little monkey wrench into Halah's plan. Even a stern, disciplinarian like my First couldn't control herself when I applied my telekinesis adroitly. Despite being a gifted citizen, the nomad woman was no exception.
    
      Halah's eyes went wide with surprise and alarm as I "fattened" up and rocked her body. She cried out -- not from pain -- but from the incredible feeling that was building up in her gut. Noorah, cringed, her eyes wide as she watched us fuck in that desert hut. She heard her mother's cries, but the thoughts flowing from her were not that of fear or pain, but that of pleasure.
    
      Halah, her face flush, her mind ablaze, and her loins on fire, yielded to me as I seized her by her ankles, and pinned them by her head as I pounded her funky, fishy, fuck-hole. Her dark eyes locked onto mine, shining with anger, surprise, and unbridled lust as I pummeled her with slow, powerful strokes.
    
      Slowly, I could feel her hole dampen and widen. Her wide hips were just what I needed to spew forth the pent-up lust I'd been harboring for the past few days. Halah let out a low, hoarse wail as she orgasmed -- likely the first time in her life.
    
      I felt her cunt chute clamp tightly over my raw cock like a Chinese finger-trap. Her pussy milked my rock-hard fuck-stick, begging me to relinquish control and spurt in her. However, I refused to give in that easily. I pushed away from the twitching, convulsing woman and focused on her daughter.
    
      Noorah saw me coming, my mind just thinking of one thing, and I could see her neck go taut as she swallowed. As delirious with lust as I was, I remembered how hard it was for virgins, and gently collected her into my arms. She squeaked timidly as I lay her down and slid beside her. Tenderly, I worked my fingers over her budding breasts and nubile body.
    
      For a youngling witch, Noorah was old by her order's standards for her first foray. She had been quite a troublemaker while her mother had been away, so nearly none of the other witch-seers wanted to take her on the journey.
    
      However, her youthful appearance gave me pause. Sensing my trepidation, Halah quickly let it be known Noorah was born the day before Saddam Hussein began his ill-fated invasion of Kuwait. I did some simple math and, relieved I wasn't going to break in a child, let my hands slip between her legs.
    
      She was young for sure -- even younger than Rosalind -- and was a slim four years older than my stepdaughter. I hesitated only briefly before I climbed onto her.
    
      Noorah whimpered as I pierced her hymen. Her cunt was tight, but I could feel her insides gradually relax as she caught my thoughts. I clasped her to my bosom, feeling her hands on my back and sides, and her tan slender legs pressing against my waist. Her tight warmth, complimented by my recent fuck with her mother, easily pushed me over the edge.
    
      I lurched forward with a grunt, and ground my hips against hers. Noorah, already a twitter with her new found sense of womanhood and my mind-buzz, let out a soft cry at the sudden interruption of our activity. My cock was coated with her blood as I sated my unspent lust on her youthful body.
    
      Halah rinsed a damp rag from two buckets: a large one to store water we carried from the delta, and a smaller one where a bit of the precious substance was apportioned for cleaning tasks. We washed ourselves thus afterwards, and slept for a bit before I awoke to Halah sucking my cock.
    
      'What time you have with us is precious.' She thought-spoke. 'I sense your urgency to leave, no?'
    
      'That's right. I'm sorry.' I responded.
    
      'As am I. But let us make the most of it.'
    
      I shivered as she bit down slightly. I felt my bloated dick squeeze between Halah's teeth, and grew excited from the wet warmth of her mouth. Beside me, Noorah was asleep, her burqa draped over her nude form. It wouldn't do to wake her -- not just yet. I turned to Halah, who crawled on top of me.
    
      'Rest, Stan Chen.' She grimaced slightly as she impaled herself on me. 'I -- I can -- I can do --'
    
      'Sure you can.' I took hold of her hips.
    
      "Ungh!" she gasped aloud as I penetrated her.
    
      I groaned as I felt Halah's warmth surround my dick. I was in hog heaven as I let my lusts take over. The woman's breasts bounced and jiggled as she bounced happily on my cock. Soon, Halah was hit again by a combination of a mind-buzz and a telekinetically enhanced G-spot roll. I rolled her onto her back, her mouth lolling, and her mind delirious with desire, before I rolled on top and fucked her once more.
    
      Awakened by our amorous activity, Noorah awoke, saw us, then picking up her mother's jittery thought-speech, climbed onto my back. The girl picked up one of my love-making sessions with Shawn, and sensing what I wanted, she kissed the nape of my neck. I groaned and threatened to cum, but I held back.
    
      It wasn't what Halah wanted, but it was what I had conditioned myself to do all these years. I slid a hand behind the woman's skull, and lifted her head slightly so I could kiss her. Halah hardly resisted as I tenderly bit and teased her lips, chin, and nose.
    
      As I pumped her, I turned her head to the side, nuzzling her cheek and nibbling her ear lobes. The nomad witch cooed as I did so, her fingers gliding through my hair, tickling my scalp. Soon, I felt her birth canal pulse and quiver as her fuck musk permeated the air. Halah was having another orgasm, albeit a quiet one. Any doubts I had was quickly erased by the trickle of thoughts I was picking up from the woman squirming beneath me.
    
      Noorah in the meanwhile, hadn't been idle. When she tired of kissing my neck from behind, she started a trail of kisses downward. I shivered when the dune blossom placed a kiss on the small of my back before she clambered back up top.
    
      Sensing I was holding back, the girl clamped down on the skin of my neck, her warm, wet tongue lapping the spot she sucked on. With the weight of the teenager and her soft breasts pressing on my back, I sank deep into Halah like a man drowning in pleasure.
    
      The desert seer had spread her legs far, far apart, and I could only grunt and groan as both women began feeding me their deepest, darkest desires: 'Elope with us.' 'Take me daily.' 'Take me nightly.' 'Take us where you like.' 'When you like.' 'Oh mother, he feels so good.' 'Daughter! Open wide your mind and your legs. Let him take you ...' 'He may! He can! Always!'
    
      "Auugh! Ungh!!" I grimaced as I felt my buttocks clench and my cock spasm.
    
      Halah let out a pent-up sigh as her fingers rubbed and cajoled my sides and shoulders. Exhausted, I nearly collapsed on top of her. I barely had the strength (and presence of mind) to roll over. Noorah barely scooted out of the way before I nearly crushed her.
    
      'Stan Chen?' It was the girl, Noorah. 'When you gather your strength, bed me again.'
    
      "Sure, no problem," I murmured as I settled in for a quick nap.
    
      I slept soundly for what seemed to be a minute, dreaming of home and my cherished darlings, when I felt a familiar tug around my cock. I opened one eye and saw Noorah over me. She was grinding the top of her slit against my hard-on. I understood why: aside from slathering warm, pungent lamp oil to lube me, she was pleasuring herself by rubbing her hairless slit up and down my shaft.
    
      Seeing her skinny, nubile body writhe roused me from my stupor. I eagerly clutched at her, and the girl got the message. She slowly settled over me, her youthful cunt stretched and took in my dick with little effort. The two of us let out satisfied sighs as we got going.
    
      Halah lay beside me, her lips pressed against my chest, her tongue flicking one of my nipples. I groaned, my body aching from the sex I had just moments before. But try as I might, I couldn't resist the temptations around me. Noorah bounced on my cock, her eyes closed, her face a mask of pleasure as she bounced on my sex sausage.
    
      Soon, I ejaculated in the girl before I took her mother again. Then, Noorah once more. Before long, it was a regular marathon. It went on for quite a while ...
    
    ===============================================================================
      HOMEFRONT
    ===============================================================================
    
      "WOW!! Look at this place!!" Melanie was as excited as the children, if not more so, as she held onto two and-a-half year-old Norman and went roaming around the House at Red Rock.
    
      "Melanie! Xieu-xum-ah!*" [* Cantonese: Be careful!]
    
      "Careful --!!"
    
      Viktoriya and Jamie both stopped, looked at one another, and smiled brightly. It was nice to see both of them getting along. The Asian mother had improved her command of her native tongue since hanging around Yu-Ching and my mother; that was hardly surprising. What was surprising was that both Tse-Kei and Viktoriya had become such fast friends.
    
      'So ... is this something I should know about?' I thought-spoke.
    
      'Are you jealous, Stanislav?' Viktoriya chided me gently.
    
      'Just wondering if this is what you want, Vika.'
    
      We both knew who we were referring to -- Freya. Neither of us mentioned her by name, and I wisely edged around the subject.
    
      'Jay is sweet, kisa. And she doesn't mind the occasional kiss.'
    
      We both left it at that. It was mid-July, just about two weeks after I had come back from the Emirates. I was lucky that I hadn't missed my flight, or that my schedule hadn't been closely examined by anyone (though I found that to be not completely true).
    
      Upon my return, I had not heard from Halah or Noorah, although the girl did ultimately allow the chill between us to subside. Noorah kissed me tenderly on our last night, and used the brief physical contact to send me a quick message. As I've mentioned before, physical contact increases our gifts' potency; with such exposure, the girl could send me a mind-burst that went unheard by Halah.
    
      I was surprised, not from Noorah's sudden warming up, but by the message she delivered: 'If I bear a son, I will depart the order to be with you.'
    
      Great. Just what I needed -- another wife and kid. I suppose that was why I felt guilty enough to show my family Red Rock. Gracia and her contractors had finally finished the furnishings the week I came back. All of the inspections and approvals had been signed and met, save one: my family's.
    
      So, I borrowed Franky's yacht on a nice day ('borrow' is a loose term, since I generally paid to clean the damn thing up afterwards) and brought my family to the island. I watched my darlings and our children with amusement as they explored the house and the grounds. The kids I knew would be safe, thanks to the new barrier I commissioned.
    
      Gracia and I had decided to surround the house with a traditional fence in the style of 19th Century wrought-iron. The material though, was definitely better, being a polymer compound weaved and thermally bonded around corrugated steel. It was airy enough to allow what vegetation I allowed to thrive around the house to aerate, and it was high enough (about 16 feet) to deter all but the hardiest of trespassers ... or the likes of Ghost Light.
    
      The kids were happy to have free reign in the house and grounds and Rachelle was giddy both from having the twins off her hands and being able to enjoy the magnificent view of the bay in the solar lounge. The place was stuffy despite the vents being wide open, but that hardly deterred her from basking lazily in her bikini. I know, because I was there to oil her up with help from Dani and Jane.
    
      The twins thought it more fun to make a greasy mess on their Osh-Kosh overalls than on their mother, but enough was left for me to give my ebony darling coverage from head to toe. With their mother snoozing, the twins and I headed back downstairs to clean up. Afterwards, Danielle opted to play tag with Kady and her older brothers, while Janelle played quietly with Jenny in the living room.
    
      Meanwhile, Shawn fascinated herself with the solar wall installation. My pretty dumpling was bright enough to understand the systems without me explaining a thing. In fact, she accompanied Melanie on her rounds and made it a point to take a picture of different spots for future reference, as well as making notes for further improvements to the roof garden.
    
      About the only person who remained quiet was my incomparable First. After the initial tour, she retreated to the kitchen, which I had temporarily stocked with drinks and treats in a jumbo dry-ice chest. Although there was a refrigerator at the house, I didn't plan to store anything in it save water, emergency rations, and some first-aid kits.
    
      Janet was sitting at the kitchen counter, and dressed rather humbly in a T-shirt, windbreaker, shorts, and tennis shoes. Her hair was wind-blown and she wore no make-up. Her disgruntled look didn't help her appearance. I gently reached out with my mind and checked on her, and sensed she was pissed about something.
    
      "Something the matter?" I asked and helped myself to a box of Vitasoy.
    
      "How much was it?" she asked.
    
      "This?" I gestured around the place.
    
      "What else, Stanley?" Janet glared at me, her two hands holding a glass of water.
    
      "Affordable." I flashed her a grin, but she looked away.
    
      My First appeared tense, and I sensed something. I wondered if it was me screwing up her plans for her 20th high school reunion; Janet had been going on and on about taking me along long before Andrew's incident overseas. My sudden departure definitely made her unhappy.
    
      Janet had stayed home instead, and in doing so, let her frustration get to her. She came to butt heads with Viktoriya over Michael's and Milhail's shenanigans. In a vain effort to coax the problem out of her, I decided to extend the truth a bit.
    
      "I did some finagling at the agency."
    
      Janet shot me a "Yeah right!" look and pursed her lips. It was a tactic of mine we'd grown accustomed to over the years. I'd lead her on with an open chat and ultimately nab the answer from her. Being a mind-reader only made my task easier.
    
      Still, I didn't want to press things too far. I didn't need to mind-read her to know she was suspicious about the purchase of an island, at least, not on the salary I had. All the mental powers in the world wouldn't be able to hide financial impropriety of this magnitude.
    
      "It's just a house, Jan," I said slowly as I surreptitiously applied my gift. "I needn't keep it if money's tight."
    
      Janet still refused to budge and kept her mouth shut.
    
      "C'mon sweetie," I put a hand on her shoulder, "What's bothering you? Even Jamie's having fun, and she runs a tighter ship than you."
    
      We both looked over and saw Viktoriya and Jamie playing good-naturedly with the younger kids. Just past them, we could see Melanie was gesturing wildly and talking rapidly just past the window. Janet thought it was just Yu-Ching being herself, but I suspected it was because she was excited because of the kids' emotions.
    
      That was cause for some worry -- what would happen to Melanie when the kids got older? I relaxed a bit when I saw Shawn toddle past, her DSLR camera in hand. As goofy as my doughty darling was, she was quick-witted and observant. If Yu-Ching got too loopy, I was sure my pumpkin would have immediately called for help.
    
      I glanced back at Janet and saw she had kept silent as her mind was working how to answer me. She peered at her water glass, her mood silent, her mind brooding. I was about to mentally fish for the answer when she suddenly spoke.
    
      "I -- I think I'm pregnant again."
    
      The world slowed down for the briefest moment, and I felt my temples throb. My ping reflexively snatched the answer from her mind, and I was at a loss for words.
    
      "Say again, hun?"
    
      "You heard me." Janet sighed unhappily, then her sarcasm took over. "I can see you're as thrilled as I am."
    
      "Are you sure?" I asked, my voice a bit shaky.
    
      Fucking hell. It must've been that night before I left. In our hurry, we hadn't been practicing safe, as we had all these years. I simply plugged Janet raw and thought the pill would handle it. While I knew Yu-Ching would be happy with another baby, all my other darlings seemed to be content with the children that had been born already. Janet had rattled on a bit before I turned my attention back on her.
    
      "... and at my age." My First's tone was sober. "At my age, I -- I don't know if I should go through with this."
    
      "You're only 38, hun."
    
      "Exactly." Janet shot me a stern look. "I shouldn't be doing diapers and burping, unless it's to help the others, or Xieu Ching."
    
      It was my turn to be thoughtful. I sat and did some quick mental calculations. Almost all of us were in our mid-30s now, with the exception of Shawn (at a tender 32) and Melanie (at 27). My affairs with Rosalind, Phillipa, and (most recently) Halah and Noorah not withstanding, I should be more at home as a family man, not a playboy. And yet ...
    
      At the thought of Mirage, I cracked a small smile. She'd never have to experience this. As great as it was to fuck her and jizz inside her, Phillipa would never be able to bear children naturally. Her clan's "gift" seemed to have ended with her -- a sterile product in a long line of invisible men.
    
      "Th'hell are you smiling at?"
    
      I blinked and looked at my First.
    
      "Sorry, say again?" I adopted an apologetic look.
    
      "So, what do you think?" Janet glared.
    
      "What do I think about what?"
    
      "The baby!" she hissed, "What else? Are you day-dreaming again, Wei-Keurng?!"
    
      That outburst caught the attention of Jamie and Viktoriya, and I quickly caught my Slavic siren's thought-speech.
    
      'What's Janna's problem NOW, Stanislav? She's been really distracted this past week and a chore to be around.'
    
      'She thinks she's pregnant again.'
    
      'Whaaaaat?'
    
      Despite having our silent conversation, Viktoriya turned away to teach Janelle and Jenny another word in Russian, pointing at the different furniture in the house. Jamie passed an impartial gaze over us, and guessing it wasn't her business, turned her attention back to the children.
    
      'Is she sure?' The Baltic beauty wondered. 'It's not like she can read those tests very well.'
    
      'I can only hope.' I thought-spoke before I caught myself.
    
      'You'd best not let her hear THAT.'
    
      Now that Viktoriya was settling into a stage of domesticity, she prided herself in chiding, admonishing, or otherwise correcting me for my numerous _faux pas_ I'd commit while using thought-speech. It was enough to make me batty; I suspected it was a ploy of Vika's to excite me into chasing her once more. If so, she was right on the money, because I was rather frisky with her when she retired to her quarters.
    
      By now, I had encircled my arms around Janet, and soothed her as best I could. She was shaking, not just from anger, but from fright and concern. My First was right: at her age, she should not be bearing children. While I was sure she could, there were potential complications, and not just for the mother.
    
      Children born to women in their late 30s and after tended to have abnormalities. My father's sister was one such an example, having developed Alzheimer's from being born when my father's mother was in her late 30s or early 40s. Rather than live like a cripple and burden the rest of her family, she had quietly taken an overdose of sleeping pills, and passed away shortly after Kady and the twins were born.
    
      "Easy there now." I put my drink down and rubbed Janet's back. "It'll be all right."
    
      As I held her, I realized that her possible pregnancy wasn't the only thing she was worried about. Janet was worried the whole time I was away, and nearly lost one of her minor cases when she "misspoke" during pre-trial. Luckily, she managed to cover up her mistake and carry on, winning the case.
    
      The scare from it though, hounded her constantly even after news of Andrew's safe return. The army called my parents, who quickly spread the word that Ah-Pung was coming home (and relieved of TDY, although he was still employed at Veterans' Affairs). Janet remained highly anxious all through out until, a few days later, I returned innocently from my "trip" with a few cheap souvenirs from the Dubayy airport for the kids.
    
      Janet was reserved when I came back, but now, she could barely hold back her emotion. She was practically beside herself the time I was gone. I took her upstairs to one of the bedrooms and let her lie down on the bed.
    
      'Will she be all right, Stanislav?' Viktoriya mentally called to me.
    
      'Give us a moment.' I thought back. 'May you please look after things for a bit?'
    
      'Only for a bit.' She responded. 'Come back soon, kisa! I need you. We all do.'
    
      'I will. Thank you, Vika.'
    
      'You are most welcome, Stanislav.'
    
      I closed the door, alarmed at the state of my sensible, logical First. Janet cried quietly, her body trembling with each sob, and I sensed why. She was thinking about an abortion. It was a sensitive thing, even for a couple as progressive as we were. Having been so careful all this time, I'd never "accidentally" gotten a girl pregnant. In fact, Janet was the one who taught me safe sex.
    
      Every child born in the family was more or less planned. The few exceptions were the twins (Rachelle and I were banking on just one -- we didn't count on the zygote making a full division) and Kady, whom Shawn and I would've gladly have had a bit later (though we still loved the little rascal). Now though, it seemed there'd be a new addition whether we wanted to or not.
    
      Shit. I stopped as I realized the full gravity of what I'd done in Iraq. Somewhere out there, I would have two other children -- boys or girls I would never know -- and with whom my current sons and daughters may never meet.
    
      I suddenly realized what Halah had been trying to do in the desert safehouse. She hadn't been trying to dig through my memories, erase them, or mind-control me, but she did do something to me. Now I knew what -- she mitigated the guilt of my extra-marital affairs, and eased me into fucking her and the girl in the desert. Sweet, kind Halah understood where I was coming from, and that soothing was part of her way of "making things right."
    
      Oh, I was more than willing. Me being who I was, I was sure what I did to those two women in Iraq was of my own accord. It was the aftermath that Halah focused on. But something about this bothered me. There was a similarity between this and something that had happened before ...
    
      I slowly made the connections and realized some uncanny similiarities between me and a man I considered an enemy. I might've had unwanted children just like my hated father-in-law George Horten. The only difference was I had done so with a willing partner -- or partners -- Halah hadn't sent me any news of her or Noorah yet.
    
      Still, was it any better for the as-yet to-be-born children? What of them when they become older? Would they seek me out, or I, them?
    
      I sat on the bed beside Janet, mulling over the kind of man I had become. Presently, I felt a tug on my hand. My First had calmed down, and was only sniffling instead of sobbing now. I lay beside her on the bed, our faces side by side, and I tenderly held her hands.
    
      Fuck it, I thought. My misery was one thing, but Janet's was another. It wasn't just her psychological health I was concerned about now, but her physical health. I couldn't do much to alleviate the physical aspect of her possible pregnancy, but I knew I could do something to ease her anxiety.
    
      We said nothing as we lay there, gazing into each other's eyes. I bumped heads with her and gave her a soft kiss on the nose and gently applied my gift. Janet's eyes dipped, and I immediately felt her thoughts kick into overdrive: 'Omigod. He's going to ask me to keep 'im.' 'Or her. Whatever.' 'Geeez. I never planned on having so many kids.'
    
      She took a moment to look back at me again. Sensing she was about to speak and wreck the moment, I rolled my sweet Lady Wu into my arms, and did my best to put her mind to rest. My First stayed silent as I hugged her gently.
    
      "Stanley?"
    
      "Yes?" I asked.
    
      "What should we name him?" she whispered, "Or her?"
    
      "Anything you like," I replied softly, "so long as you're fine with it."
    
      She didn't reply, but gently stroked my hand with her delicate fingers. Soon, I heard Janet's light snoring, and my eyes were growing heavy as well. We snoozed for a quite a while, because by the time one of the others woke us, it was nearly dark. We got Franky's yacht back in its slip at the San Francisco Marina well past nightfall.
    
    ===============================================================================
      COLD WINTER
    ===============================================================================
    
      If I didn't know Viktoriya as well as I did, I would've said she had a gift where something would come true just because she said so. It wasn't so, but my dusky Russkie was on the ball about Janet being mildly distracted during my absence.
    
      'She may have misread the test again, milenky.' She thought-spoke from home while I accompanied Janet to her OB-GYN. 'Remember what happened _last_ time?'
    
      Yes, I did. That was nearly ten years ago, when I was with my Moscow minx in the Big Apple. Janet thought she was preggers when she wasn't. Her ensuing panic put us all in a heightened sense of expectation. But that was quite some time ago; hadn't technology advanced?
    
      'And if she didn't read it wrong this time?' I thought-spoke to my psychically sensitive wife.
    
      'Bet your weekend, kisa.' Viktoriya's mischief was obvious as she stretched before the big mirrors in her condo. 'Your whole weekend now, Stanislav. Not just your off-day!'
    
      'Sure.' I lifted my magazine a bit to hide my grin from the people in the waiting room. 'If it's not, I won't have much time alone for a while.'
    
      'I understand, my love.' She grew thoughtful as she hummed a few bars of a lullaby and stifled a yawn. 'But come what may, we will ALL help Janna.'
    
      'Spasee baa, Vika.'
    
      Five minutes later, Janet came out with a strange look of relief and disappointment on her face. I picked Viktoriya's mirth and similar sense of relief as the news spread over our mental broadcasts and mobile phones; as it turned out, I would owe my Slavic siren two fun-filled days at the Yerba Buena Center for the Arts (it was New Age ballet set to modern pop and reggae).
    
      My nit-witted First had misread the pregnancy test again (which calls into question how the hell she passed her BAR exam in the first place), and her anxiety had (again) lead her into thinking she was sick with child, when in fact, she was just sick and missing me. Stress was the oddest damned thing to diagnose correctly for 'normals' and citizens alike.
    
      At the thought of the term 'citizen' I frowned.
    
      Despite what Halah had told me about the invisible empire, I wasn't wholly sure if I could trust her. After all, she had done something to me in that damned desert house. While it wasn't mind control, it was some sort of temporary mental adjustment. Still, she had done me a great service by increasing my knowledge about our kind.
    
      To be honest, I had seen little of the empire, despite all the years I had known about it. Apart from my mentor, Tseng, and the few individuals (Cristobel, Galen, Kari, Rick, Darrell, and Carrie-Ann) who exhibited telepathic abilities, I hadn't encountered many more citizens apart from the ones I identified for Feodor to psychically neutralize in the wake of September 11th.
    
      Of course, there were the _true_ oddballs -- the ones who had very little to do with psionics: Ghost Light, who could teleport to any spot he can think of; Masquerade, who was able to not only project her illusions, but also able to slightly alter her facial features (texture and color, not mass); and Mirage, who could become invisible to the visible spectrum.
    
      And me? Where did I fit into this? Was NSA's PSI Division something Tseng created? Or was there another agenda?
    
      The answers escaped me, even though the eerie prediction Halah had given me back in Umm Qasr gave me much to think about long after my return home. While I pondered about the existence of the empire, other good things began happening for the family: Andrew reconciled (somewhat) with Sachiko.
    
      Despite that, Ami was still seeing my brother. She understood what it was to be polygamous. Her parents, once they met Sachiko, were _not_ happy to see their daughter being my brother's second wife. Thankfully, that hadn't happened yet as the Japanese woman hadn't fully come round to our way of thinking. Gracia's sister still had her job in Seattle, but she was at least talking to Andrew once more.
    
      Meanwhile, Anthony was busy seeing Clara (the student from Viktoriya's dance class). I didn't see him loiter around Jillian or her sisters any more, and he kept his distance at any family function he showed up in. Melanie was blissfully unaware how dangerously close I had come to silencing her brother.
    
      All that though, was dwarfed by what happened in the last days of November, 2009.
    
      At the time, I was still mulling over Halah's revelation, wondering what it all meant. Tseng may have been living with Susan in New York, but I wasn't about to come out and confront the man about his lies; I wasn't sure what he was capable of, nor was I wholly sure I'd get a satisfactory answer. I decided to make discreet inquiries on my own.
    
      With my empire associations (all of them co-opted through Tseng, or who were newbies), I had to be careful. I soon realized that _I_ was perhaps the most experienced amongst my circle of empire citizens. That was a curious development, especially since I only dabbled in the empire's business on a part-time basis.
    
      Regardless, I had more to worry about that November night. Rachelle gave my hands a hard squeeze in the limousine, and her touch quickly drew me back to reality.
    
      We were in Washington D.C., having accepted an invitation to a state dinner party.
    
      Douglass Simmons, Craig's father, had kept in touch with my dark darling after the younger Simmons' demise. Their relationship was cordial, although I suspected there was a bit of effort on the congressman's part to keep the family's dirty laundry under wraps. I suppose that was why Doug wrangled two spots for us to that function.
    
      The invitation though, stirred up some jealousy amongst my darlings. First off, it was a highly visible affair. That meant I couldn't just show up with six wives in tow, even if I wanted to. Secondly, the dinner was being held on Thanksgiving weekend. We managed to celebrate turkey-fest early with a big family party on the eco-condo's rooftop, with Melanie's and Shawn's condos acting as the kitchen and indoor lounge, respectively.
    
      Ah-ha! Now I remember -- that was when Rachelle knocked herself silly against the vent pipe in Melanie's unit when she was chasing Kady and Dani around. No sooner than Melanie began voicing her complaint when my mocha-skinned mate slammed the side of the pipe (incidentally making quite a dent). Despite all the fun we were having (and Janet scolding me for daring to laugh at Rachelle's accident), some of my wives had to work during Thanksgiving weekend.
    
      Janet, as much as she wanted to go and hobnob with politicians and lobbyists, couldn't attend the event as her health insurance provider case wasn't going to arbitration. She had to stick around the office and do some research. On top of that, my First wasn't the one invited; the invitation was addressed to Stanley and Rachelle Chen.
    
      Likewise, Jamie couldn't go. Tse-Kei was going to pull in a bonus for being on holiday call, and she was interested in making the extra dough. The nest-egg I had given to Jamie after we left Vegas had remained in escrow in her name, and was untouched once Kei-kei started her job. With the economy being all doom and gloom, Jamie only increased her frugality.
    
      As for my plump petunia, Shawn, she was working on (yet another) re-design Fontana had started on for solar cells (this time, it was for the Treasure Island redevelopment). With Gracia's assistance, the three of them were making cheap, flexible solar cells with modular fittings for housing on the former naval base. I only managed to temporarily escape that project's drudgery, I would be the one drafting the plans for fitting and installation once the planning was done.
    
      So, that left me, Rachelle (who was excited to be meeting the president, I think it was a black guy at the time), Melanie, Viktoriya, and just a few of the kids free. We didn't want to seperate them, but the younger ones were too young to enjoy the experience. Additionally, they wouldn't be able to do what I expected them to do (describe their trip in a written report or visual presentation). This was to going to be both an educational experience and a vacation.
    
      Melanie hardly cared about the state dinner (she was in one of her smug moods, saying she could out-cook the chefs at the White House) while Rachelle was positively aglow about the upcoming dinner and was smiling the whole time. Only Viktoriya seemed distracted, for we were so close to New York (and Freya) without dropping by.
    
      In the end, our group travelling to DC consisted of me, Rachelle, Viktoriya, Melanie, and the older kids: Jillian, Michael, Milhail, Jenny, and Frederick.
    
      We all spent two days (Saturday and Sunday) together, taking the kids around various landmarks in DC. Between their constant barrage of questions and requests to go to the bathroom, we had plenty to do, but they didn't give us much trouble. The children back in San Francisco were doing all right, and the seven of us had a conference call on Saturday night to check in with one another.
    
      "Having fun in DC, guys?" Shawn's mellow contralto came through the speaker.
    
      "Hi Shawn Ellen! We sure are!" Melanie replied. "How's Normie? Is he being good?"
    
      "He sure is." Janet answered as we heard some noises. "C'mere little guy, don't you recognize mommy?"
    
      "Xieu-di-di," Little Chen held her phone like a walkie-talkie, "Mama hou gwa-jue lei-a*." [* Cantonese: Little one, mommy misses you!]
    
      Norman made a few gurgles (and one audible 'ma-ma') but he was earnestly a bit young to recognize his mother over a cellular phone. After a minute more of Norman slobbering over the line, someone (probably Janet) pulled him away so we could chat.
    
      "How are the girls doing?" Rachelle asked.
    
      "Hi ma-ma!!" One of the twins spoke up. "I wuv you!"
    
      "Me too," my brown sugar replied, "But are you Dani or Jayne?"
    
      "Jayne, momma," Janelle's baby lisp cam through, "Dani's playin' wif' Kady."
    
      I was about to correct the girl's pronunciation but I didn't; it would be another thing to do once I got home. Her mother, Rachelle, certainly didn't think anything was wrong. In fact, she thought it adorable.
    
      "Oh, I see," Rachelle spoke with a happy look, "Ma-ma will be home soon, okay? Love you and to your sister, all right?"
    
      "Yes ma-ma!"
    
      "Oh yeah, Rayche," Jamie cut in, "I hope you don't mind, but Shawn and I are taking the twins with us over to Janet's to learn swimming when the weather warms up."
    
      "What?" Rachelle's face tensed briefly, "Oh right. Sure, you guys emptied a bit of the pool, right?"
    
      "Yeah." Shawn chimed in. "And don't worry. It's mostly just wading an' stuff. Get them used to being wet."
    
      "And cold," I added. Through Viktoriya's mind-sight, I could see myself frown and I sensed her mirth throughout the family chat.
    
      "It's only nippy in the mornings." Janet interjected. "Those dish heaters we bought are great, Stanley."
    
      "Glad someone got good use for 'em," I said.
    
      "But they're so wasteful, Jan!" Shawn complained. I could picture her cheeks dimple as she did.
    
      "Michael?" Janet came on again. "Are you listening to your dad?"
    
      "Yes, mom," our eldest boy promptly replied.
    
      "And Freddy?" she pressed.
    
      "He's been good," I replied. "Don't worry about it."
    
      "While we're on that subject," Jamie piped up, "You behave as well, Jillian. And look after your sister."
    
      "Okaaaa-ay, mo-om! I am!!"
    
      And on and on it went. The kids and their mothers chatted a bit more before bed. The three hour time difference meant we had to keep our conference brief.
    
      On Sunday, Rachelle went to get her hair and nails done while Viktoriya, Melanie, and I took the kids on more sight-seeing. That night, Rachelle and I were chauffeured to the White House by limousine. Melanie and Viktoriya were to baby-sit the kids. We were cutting it close with the children's school schedule, but we were sure it would all work out.
    
      Congressman Simmons and his date, a strikingly handsome woman by the name of Erica Bene (she was a pharmaceutical lobbyist from San Diego), stepped out on the red carpet first. I composed myself, and took Rachelle by the arm as we swept past the crowd of flashbulbs at the entrance of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.
    
      I was both nervous and intimidated. I hadn't been to a really big function since the wedding, and the last time I intentionally took Rachelle to something ostentatious was over a decade and a half ago, at our school's Winter Ball. There were no paparazzi there, and a lot fewer people.
    
      That was the other thing that bugged me. The cameras. I was going to have my picture snapped and my face plastered who knows where. If someone recognized me or Rachelle, questions were bound to crop up. Still, to put on a show, I simply smiled and ignored the cameras. I did my best to put my black beauty between me and the mechanical lenses.
    
      "Oh, sugar." I heard her whisper loudly in my ear as we stepped up to the security checkpoint. "We've arrived!"
    
      I controlled my exuberance and returned a smile before replying, "We sure have, Ra-Ra. Let's enjoy ourselves."
    
      "Of course! Definitely!" Rachelle smiled back, her eyes brightly.
    
      A well-dressed young woman in a conservative black suit looked up and asked, "Mister and Missus?"
    
      "Chen," my mulatto minx beamed radiantly. "Stanley and Rachelle Chen."
    
      The female agent (she was Secret Service, as was the other operative lurking in the background, weapon nestled under his coat) ran her pen down a checklist. Hardly a second look, I thought. A mere decade and a half ago, the notion of Rachelle and I being an item would have fallen into a variety of categories, none of them pleasant.
    
      Now, it seemed to hardly faze anyone. In some ways, DC was much more cosmopolitan than San Francisco. We fished out our photo IDs and we were registered and waved in. An usher lead us -- Simmons, his date, Rachelle, and me -- through the maze of halls to one of the larger dining rooms.
    
      The White House, I observed, was really cluttered and overflowing with crap. Several times on the way to the reception, Rachelle and I had to go single file to avoid brushing against the velvet rope.
    
      "This place is more cluttered than Jan's place after a soiree," I muttered under my breath.
    
      "Oh, sugar. Don't complain." Rachelle wrinkled her nose at my joke, but she was smiling all the same as she literally dragged me to the party.
    
      The room was buzzing with light chatter, broken by the occasional laugh, or hearty greeting. I recognized a few politicians there, but made no attempt to engage them in banter. I had more than enough to do just keeping my mind aware of my surroundings and looking 'normal' while doing so.
    
      If I were inclined to sell secrets, what I could unearth just from shaking a few hands was probably worth quite a sum to interested parties. Luckily, I was just there to relax, and to play my part as a 'normal'.
    
      Any introductions were made by Doug Simmons -- for the most part, I stuck by Rachelle as she floated from one group to another, mingling and chatting away. I did pick up a few snide thoughts about Rachelle that I dared not repeat aloud: 'Is she Alpha Kappa Alpha or is she Links?' 'Doesn't look either; she seems to be with that Asian anyway.' 'Probably another brain-washed, light-skinned Black girl.'
    
      I cast an eye around the room and the thoughts seemed to be emanating from a small group of well dressed, but grim-faced black women on the side of the room. Seeing my stare, they huddled together and turned their backs to me. Snubbed, I returned my attention back to my chocolate sweetheart. Seeing her so at ease (and at home), I drifted off towards the hors d'veure table and looked over the (horrible) sampling of Western snacks.
    
      "It'll start late, like any Chinese banquet." Melanie advised us earlier. "EAT something, you guys. Just in case!"
    
      Now I wish I had taken up her suggestion to eat a bit more than an over-priced plate of fish and chips before I came. I didn't because I was helping the kids with their reports about the trip.
    
      I surveyed the spread before me and decided to help myself to something that looked like meat paste on a cracker; I wasn't so sure about my choice, and readied a napkin so I could spit it back out without making a scene.
    
      As I reached out, my hand nearly collided with someone. I glanced up and saw a reedy, tan-skinned man in a black tuxedo and buzzed, squarish haircut. He seemed about my age or at least older, a pleasant demeanor, and wore a rather bemused look on his face.
    
      "Sorry." I drew back and bade him to grab his appetizer first.
    
      "No, no. My fault for thinking you were going to zig instead of zagging." The man flashed me a smile. "Please help yourself."
    
      "Naw, I'm good. Just trying to stifle some munchies." I smiled back, if only out of habit.
    
      I had seen this guy somewhere before. And he was definitely a VIP of some sort. There were two goons standing just a step or two away, their thoughts instantly focused on me. I could see their earbuds and instinctively "felt" the compact machinepistols hidden in their shoulder holsters.
    
      The other man caught none of this as he laughed softly and grabbed his snack. He downed it in two quick bites. I decided to help myself to another dish, something that turned out to be over-roasted green peppers stuffed with a mix of rice and some sort of tasty goop (veal probably). The brown skinned man was about to speak when a well dressed black woman got his attention.
    
      "Excuse me. Please enjoy yourself." He gave me a quick grin.
    
      I nodded back and dismissed him with a curt wave. Accompanied by the bodyguards, he and the woman strode off to another group of dignitaries. The veal-stuffed peppers were pretty damn good, so I nabbed another. I as swirled the contents in my mouth, making quick notes for myself and Yu-Ching, I felt someone tap me on the shoulder.
    
      "Stanley? Sugar?" Rachelle was standing by me, a drink in hand.
    
      I could sense something was up though, not simply from her mental excitement, but her hand holding the wine glass was trembling.
    
      "Hey, hon." I gave her a quick grin. "Try these pepper thingees; Yu-Ching's gonna ---"
    
      "Were you talking to him?" Rachelle interrupted me.
    
      "Who?"
    
      "Him." She motioned deftly with a nod. "You know. The president?!"
    
      "Really?" I turned around to locate the man I nearly made physical contact with.
    
      While I hadn't touched the man, his presence was fairly easy to track down due to our recent proximity to one another. Our fearless leader, along with his lovely wife (in a rather plain purple evening gown), were talking with a group of diplomats a few yards away.
    
      Ah, I thought. That explains the bodyguards. I was so occupied with how weird the food was that I wasn't psychically pinging as much as I should be.
    
      "Huh," I came off rather casual. "I guess I was."
    
      "And you didn't think to introduce me?" Rachelle sounded annoyed.
    
      "Sorry honey," I was apologetic. "We were just grabbing appetizers."
    
      "Likely story," she sniffed. "But we're here, let's at least shake his hand."
    
      "Sure," I replied coolly.
    
      Inwardly, alarm bells sounded off in my head. I knew the instant I make skin to skin contact, I'd likely stumble on a few state secrets I wouldn't normally be privy to. If Brian Cox, or any agency spook who knew about NSA-PSI, were in the room when I shook the man's hand, I wondered what kind of problems there would be.
    
      Rachelle and I slowly approached the president and his little group. I sensed his bodyguards's thoughts instantly. Almost immediately, I knew a background check was likely being run on me and my mocha mate. Naive to the core, Rachelle's insistence that we personally meet the "leader of the free world" just exposed me and the family to uninvited probing by the U.S. Secret Service.
    
      "Ah, Mr. President!" It was Simmons.
    
      The congressman came up with his date, and both shook the man's hands warmly. Rachelle was practically walking on cloud nine as the elder Simmons introduced us as his late son's friends. Although Craig's death had been over a year ago, it was fresh enough that soft condolences were whispered between the Commander in Chief and Representative Simmons.
    
      I was still wary of shaking the president's hand, so I suggested we take some quick pictures. To minimize my own exposure (and avoid touching anyone I didn't need to) I offered to be the camera man, and snapped several shots of the president, the First Lady, Doug, Erica, and Rachelle.
    
      By now, I didn't have any other socially plausible excuses to prevent Erica from taking a picture of me with the rest of the group, so I knuckled under and did what I could to minimize the damage. I stayed on the edge of the picture, using my wife as a physical buffer.
    
      That photo was going to be annoying if Rachelle decided frame it. Not only would it likely rile up jealousy from Janet, but it could be something used against the family.
    
      I was thinking about how to mar that photo without damaging the rest of Miss Bene's pictures when a well-dressed butler announced that dinner was being served ... in some room in another wing (I don't remember where exactly).
    
      "Well, it's nice meeting you."
    
      Rachelle held her breath as President Obama's hand hung in empty air, waiting to meet mine. Now, it wasn't that I didn't like the guy, but I had to find some way of not making skin-to-skin contact.
    
      It wasn't simply for my own good, but his too. I would have done the same for the previous C-in-C (what's his face -- George "Dubya" Bush -- or whom Melanie often mockingly refer to as, 'The Presidential Dunce', though that doesn't compare to Shawn's Indian moniker for W., which was 'He Who Follows White Lines').
    
      So, I decided to go clever (or what I thought was clever) and opted for a traditional Chinese greeting (one hand in a fist, the other an open palm, both brought together) instead of a Western handshake.
    
      "Congratulations on a brilliant start, sir. May things be this easy for you in the months and years ahead."
    
      The man was suave, and passed it off with a laugh and a broad grin, although it was easy for me to pick up his surface thoughts: 'Wow, that's ... different.' 'I wonder if he's just being quirky, or just rude to his wife.' 'Or maybe he's a Chinese attache or a spy ...'
    
      I maintained my best smile, although Rachelle looked at me oddly. I managed to nudge her suspicions away by explaining that I had just slobbered over my hands at the appetizer table, and didn't want to pass on my germs (or the kids' germs) by shaking someone's hand.
    
      "He has kids too, you know!" she whispered as we sat down at our table.
    
      "I know, but they're older right?" I whispered back, "Around middle school?"
    
      "Yes, but still, that was a little rude. And you're not shy about touching me; what about that?"
    
      "Well, you're different," I began to nudge her thoughts elsewhere, "You don't have a country to run on Monday, right?"
    
      "I guess ..."
    
      "And besides," I paused to give her a sly wink, "I think I slobber over you enough at home to give you my germs. You should be immunized from them now."
    
      "Oh, sugar! You're such a joker!" Rachelle blushed as Erica and Doug laughed softly at our by-play.
    
      So, I managed to eke by as a strange little 'normal' for a bit longer. Too bad it wouldn't last the night.
    
    ===============================================================================
      MIND STALKERS
    ===============================================================================
    
      It began with an innocuous question.
    
      "Yu-Ching?" I asked, "Where's Vika?"
    
      "Huh? I dunno."
    
      Melanie was busy packing while Jillian and Jenny were playing with their Nintendo DS'es. The boys were watching some mindless action flick on HBO (or ShowTime). Rachelle and I had come back to our three rooms before 11:00. My mocha mate hopped into the shower while I sought to wind down; the dinner was pretty mundane, if boring affair.
    
      Everyone seemed to be at the hotel, save Viktoriya. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, and the kids didn't remember their Russian momma behaving weird or strange. Since I had brought up her absence with Melanie, I decided to follow through and did what any "normal" husband would do. I brought out my phone and dialed Viktoriya's number.
    
      Hearing Vika's ringing phone in the adjoining room didn't help. I hung up and reflexively pinged as I snatched her phone from the table. I got an eerie sense of mental static; it wasn't quite the dead silence, but it was very familiar. Almost like the same sense of misdirection Viktoriya had back in 2001.
    
      I sat on the edge of the bed, my face impassive as I rummaged through Vika's call log. Seeing me do so prompted Melanie to speak up.
    
      "Stanley," her tone approaching a whine, "should you be doing that?"
    
      "No," I replied promptly and held up a hand for quiet.
    
      There weren't any numbers I didn't recognize already: Jamie, Janet, Cristobel, and a few other friends of Viktoriya's from her institute days. A few were her students, and there was a short call from Freya just earlier that evening.
    
      Could that have been it? An argument perhaps? If so, then Viktoriya might want time alone. Still, it wasn't like her not to vent to me about that Dutch girl. Melanie must've sensed my discomfort, because she began trying to make me feel better.
    
      "Maybe she stepped out to get a drink or fresh air or something," Melanie said softly.
    
      "Maybe she did." My instincts though, said otherwise.
    
      Viktoriya wasn't answering when I pinged her, but I felt she was still "around". It was just like with Andrew and Iraq again. Rachelle was still in the shower, so I decided to look for her myself.
    
      "I'll see if I run into her downstairs." I gave Little Chen a peck on the cheek and headed out.
    
      The hotel was pretty damn quiet, save for the muffled noises in the rooms. Occasionally, I could hear sounds from a television, or a dull thud of someone bumping into furniture as they stumbled to the bathroom.
    
      All the while, I mentally pinged for Viktoriya, and got the strangest feedback. Just like on 9/11, I knew she was alive, but her presence was murky and unclear. Only this time, there was also something else -- like an over-presence blanketing the entire area.
    
      Was it Tseng? I wondered about that, and mulled over Halah's warning: 'He is not like us at all. He mimics our powers.'
    
      If he was, he was doing a fine job of it; it was also scary to me how he'd do that. I took the elevator down to the lobby, wondering what was going on. Viktoriya wasn't in the lobby but I caught a sliver of her mental after-presence near the night-clerk.
    
      We exchanged pleasantries as I shifted my concentration. I focused on her psychic trail and headed outside, to a cab driver helping some passengers with their luggage. This was getting to be quite a nuisance.
    
      Was Viktoriya doing something? Experimenting perhaps?
    
      'Vika?' I broadcasted. 'What are you doing? Where are you?'
    
      I followed the next after-presence, and not finding her, went looking for another, and another, and another, each target was a person who my mysterious Baltic beauty must've made contact with. By now, I was in some park in the middle of Washington DC in the dead of night. Not exactly the brightest move I made in my life.
    
      I was quite deep in a park, alone, and in near pitch darkness. Whatever this game Viktoriya was playing, it wasn't much to my liking. I was sure I was going to have a serious chat with her when I found her. It was then when an uneasy feeling passed over me. It felt like an after-presence, but it was coming towards me.
    
      That was odd. Up until now, each of the after-presences had been loitering and not roaming about. Was I being watched? Followed? Or set-up?
    
      I decided to err on the side of caution. I spotted a low building in the distance; a public restroom. I saw the doors were locked when I got close, but that was no impediment to me. I cracked the tumblers and headed inside. Unlike some of the public bathrooms in San Francisco, this one had a light. Once I stepped inside, the motion-sensor turned it on.
    
      Damn, I thought. Now whoever was trailing me would know where I was. Fortunately, it turned out to be one of the better choices I made that night.
    
      I looked up and found there was a dark spot on the ceiling I could hide in; I telekinetically lifted myself there, and remained quiet. Soon enough, a non-descript man in a dark suit came in. At first, I thought he was an NSA agent sent to tail me, but then I recognized him as the Secret Service agent who had checked me and Rachelle in at the White House's entrance earlier that evening.
    
      He appeared off-duty, but there was something about the blankness of his mind that was unnerving. I could sense Viktoriya's after-presence on him, but there was something else. Looking back, I realized why. If he was a "normal" then I would've picked up his intent all along. As it turned out, I could barely sense his intention from the get go.
    
      I geared myself up both mentally and physically for a confrontation. Viktoriya's mysterious disappearance had certainly set me on edge, and it was far too coincidental for Secret Service to pop up right now.
    
      I had already begun mentally blanking out myself as I floated silently over the man below. I wanted to know who this guy was, so I decided to take him out with a brain-blast and began gliding in to make my attack. Almost too late, I forgot about that damned light. My shadow crept over the floor when I was on top of him. The agent, for some reason, hesitated; I didn't. I dropped right on top of my target without another thought.
    
      It was surprising then, that the man didn't succumb immediately. The amount of effort I was putting out to brain-blast the guy would've floored most people. I had radiated an intense field laced with thought-hate once I had come to grips, but the Secret Service agent wasn't fazed. Instead, this seemed only to infuriate him.
    
      I was momentarily stunned when I got slammed against the toilet stall's walls, and a steady string of blows began raining down on my head, neck, sides, and back in an effort to subdue me. Thanks to my gift, I didn't go down easily and I did my best to be a difficult opponent. During all this, I managed to peek into my assailant's mind.
    
      A blank. That was what he was. This morning, he was Aaron Pritchet, Secret Service agent with a wife and two kids. Now, he was tasked with killing me -- nothing else mattered.
    
      All of his other memories were purged, altered, or otherwise suppressed to get this task done. And incidentally, it was this 'blank' state of mind that made him nearly impossible to detect; only my intuition, suspicion and training had alerted me to this guy.
    
      I had enough. I shrouded my right hand with telekinesis, and let him have it. One moment, the man was pummeling me within an inch of my life, and the next he was a silent heap on the ground.
    
      My head was pounding as I stumbled to the counter and cleaned myself up. I sported a few cuts and bruises to my face but nothing looked broken. I was sore though. I wasn't used to receiving this amount of physical brutality.
    
      The man who attacked me was silent. When I checked on him, I knew why. My blow had crushed his throat -- the normally tight stretch of skin over the front of his neck was now blackish blue and puffy. I saw his body twitch, his eyes slowly glaze as he slowly suffocated on the ground.
    
      I rifled through his pockets and found a ballpoint pen. I unscrewed the two halves, disposed of the ink cartridge, and punched the sharper half through his neck. Blood and a sharp hiss of air shot out of the metal tubing, and I immediately got a sense of relief from the downed man. Still, I wasn't in an ebullient mood. The asshole had tried to kill me.
    
      "Do not fucking move," I snapped quietly.
    
      Agent Pritchet could breathe better if he lay down, so I rolled him onto his back. I canted his torso at a slight angle with his coat, and relieved him of his firearm and mobile phone. All the while, I scanned him, infuriated at who the hell programmed him.
    
      As I finished restraining the agent, I found the one glaring memory which gave me chills: it was Viktoriya.
    
      Her wonderful, waspish figure silhouetted against the glow of the floodlights of some war monument we had gone to the day before. Her back was turned at first, then I noticed she was getting bigger because someone (was it Pritchet?) was walking towards her. The memory vision faded as Vika turned around, a look of surprise and -- was it recognition? -- on her face.
    
      The Secret Service man could only breathe raggedly as I studied him. There was no way Viktoriya knew Pritchet -- heck, even I hadn't seen him until tonight. So who was it that my Russian sweetie saw?
    
      "Blink rapidly if you can hear me."
    
      Pritchet blinked several times.
    
      "Good," I felt my face harden as I spoke, "You know the drill: once for affirmative. Twice for negative. Close your eyes for a half-second so I know it's not a reflex blink, understood?"
    
      The injured man wheezed through the blowpipe and slow-blinked once to show he understood.
    
      "Do you know who I am?"
    
      He closed and opened his eyes twice.
    
      "Do you know why you attacked me?"
    
      Again, a no.
    
      "Do you know who is Viktoriya Lychenko?"
    
      Another no.
    
      Fuck this, I fumed. I wasn't going anywhere and I knew I needed help. So, who to call? Tseng? Or Cox? Or both? Or were they in on this? Why was I targeted?
    
      I wasn't getting anywhere and with so little to go on, I needed to prioritize. The monument I saw Viktoriya at was about five minutes or so away (walking), but I had another concern back at the hotel.
    
      My family. I felt my stomach tighten. Were people after them as well? And what to do? If these assassins were "citizens" of the empire ... who'd protect Melanie, Rachelle and the children?
    
      And another worry. Melanie. Had her gifts been growing to a point where they cannot be contained? Did she inadvertently give herself away? Little Chen's mental masking and empathy were always mysteries to me and Viktoriya.
    
      Fuck. Aside from me, Viktoriya knew about Melanie. Perhaps that's why she and I were targeted, because of Melanie's gift. Damn. This night was quickly becoming a nightmare.
    
    ===============================================================================
      WHEN SOMEONE ASKS IF YOU'RE A GOD, YOU SAY, 'YES.'
    ===============================================================================
    
      As bad as I felt leaving Pritchet bleeding in the bathroom, I felt worse not physically checking in on Melanie, Rachelle and the children in the room. While it was efficient for me to telepathically monitor them, that assured me that they were safe -- not the other way around.
    
      I caught Rachelle's panicky thoughts when she emerged from the shower, only to be way-laid by Melanie's explanation of Viktoriya's absence as well as my own.
    
      Thoughts of: 'God damn it. Those two are always sneaking about. I thought this weekend was supposed to be for us.' and 'If he and Viktoriya are out partying, he's going to get a piece of my mind!!!' came to me.
    
      As I focused on the task at hand, I wondered if I had grown complacent. I had done so much dirty stuff of the years, I was amazed I hadn't been caught. Maybe the bubble had finally burst. After all, my carelessness had lead to Norman's and Milhail's kidnapping. Now, I wondered what the hell I'd done -- or worse yet, what Viktoriya or Melanie may have done -- to warrant such a response.
    
      For a brief moment, I even harbored the suspicion Pincelli had somehow gotten himself some gifted or talented assets. That would be problematic; he and his mob squad would go after me and my family without hesitation.
    
      Still, messing around with the Secret Service was too much of a high-profile act; if Tseng's hold on our kind was as iron-clad as he made it seem, the "citizen" who committed that act would soon be dead or dealt with ...
    
      Then again, I soured as Halah's words came back to me, Tseng may not have as much control as I was lead to believe. It was times like these that I wanted the invisible empire to be real. There'd be some measure of organization and control then.
    
      I left Pritchet in the restroom. In his injured state, he'd be lucky to survive without some sort of medical assistance. I dialed 911 on his cellphone once I had what I needed. As soon as I got the operator on the line, I simply gave the nearest intersection to the park, and the words, "Park bathroom. Attempted mugging. Pierced throat."
    
      I tossed the agent's phone next to him and headed for the war memorial where I'd glimpsed Vika. As I got nearer, I noticed her jittery psychic after-presences before Pritchet ambushed me were concentrated in one spot. And I could feel there was something there, something odd; I cannot put it into words, but it was definitely out of place.
    
      When I reached the memorial, I noticed someone was waiting for me. It wasn't Viktoriya, but a rather an all too familiar face.
    
      "Champion."
    
      My tone was stale as I stopped a few paces away from the hulking NSA agent. Brian Cox had his back towards me and he was starting at the massive stone in the center of the plaza. When he finally spoke, he didn't even turn around.
    
      "How are we this evening?"
    
      "Could be better, Brian," I said simply.
    
      "I sense you are in search of answers," Cox turned around.
    
      Even before he did, I could sense there was something strange afoot. Normally, Brian's mind was open to mine, despite what lies Tseng and I had told him (that we needed physical contact to initiate a mind-reading). Tonight was different; Agent Cox's was a complete blank, although I sensed something malevolent lurking underneath his mask of mental tranquility.
    
      "What's going on?" I decided to play dumb.
    
      "Did you think you can get that close, that deep into the system?" Cox said coldly.
    
      "I don't know what you mean, Champion," I replied carefully. Whatever was in control here, it had just raided the agent's memories and had access to what Cox knew about the NSA.
    
      "Oh, we know about your little trip to Iraq," the big agent said tonelessly. "We also know that you stayed for a few days longer than what you needed to."
    
      "Again, I have no idea what you're talking about," I maintained my innocence.
    
      "Don't play a fool," Cox's demeanor changed, "You don't think they watch you? That we watch you? Where you go has never been a secret for long, from Mexico to the UAE."
    
      "Maybe I should ask Ghost Light for lift," I joked, "You couldn't stop him before."
    
      Cox's face twitched. Despite the mental blank, I could sense that he was trying to process what I had just said by rifling through Brian's memories. That reinforced what I had already suspected: someone had subjugated my handler's mind.
    
      And I had a second suspicion, too. It wasn't Tseng, but rather someone else. If it were my mentor, he wouldn't have hesitated to lambaste me for associating so closely with the teleporting David. So, it had to be someone just as powerful. This could be bad news ...
    
      "So, were you the ones responsible for Pritchet tonight?" I slowly took out the Secret Service man's sidearm; Cox didn't react as I expected him to. Another bad sign.
    
      "He was ..." the big agent seemed to search for the right words, "... a test."
    
      "Some test." I ejected the magazine, then drew the slide back. I tossed the gun, now empty, onto the concrete. I kept the magazine and the ejected round.
    
      "If it were not," Cox sounded lost in thought, "you would be dead."
    
      "NSA makes it a point to kill assets?" I managed a wan smile as I paraphrased something the big man said years ago. "I thought there was a hands-off policy; look but don't touch."
    
      "If you only knew." Brian certainly sounded like himself; for a few moments, even I doubted my own judgment and went along with the illusion.
    
      "If only." I sniffed and caught the whiff of something familiar.
    
      Viktoriya's favorite perfume. It was some exotic concoction she only donned on special occasions or, in fits of depression, to 'cheer me up, kisa.'
    
      Almost instantly, I felt the hairs of my neck stand up. Was Vika close-by? If so, why was Cox here as well?
    
      "You have been up to no-good, son." Cox's face turned into a snarl. "All that crap you did down there has primed Mexico to become a warzone."
    
      "Oops?" I maintained my quasi-innocence.
    
      "And now you to walk right into a disputed region?" The big agent flexed his hands as if he intended to strangle me. "What were you doing in Dubai?"
    
      If Cox knew about my side-trip to Umm-Qasr, he didn't seem to let on. Not being able to pick up his thoughts as I usually did, I answered cautiously.
    
      "Had to check up on some building plans," I replied casually. "You know. Architecture stuff."
    
      "Of course you did."
    
      Uh-oh. I knew I was in a bind. Without any telepathic reception from my target, I was no better than a "normal", and probably less so, since I had relied on my gifts since I was young. Still, I wagered, I wasn't completely defenceless. I still had my telekinesis ...
    
      As soon as I thought of it, Viktoriya stepped round the corner of the memorial's center piece. My heart skipped a beat; almost immediately, I knew something was wrong.
    
      "Vika?"
    
      She didn't answer as she walked slowly towards me, her vacant stare seemed to pass through me. Viktoriya stopped when she came abreast of Cox.
    
      As I studied the strange scene before me, he too, seemed to have a blank, vacuous look. While he spoke, his face didn't seem to be as "lively" or "lifelike" although he made attempts to put on a show with a few expressions and body movements.
    
      Suddenly, it hit me. When Tseng and I had puppeteered those Mexican gangsters down south, I bet we spent more time fighting the mind of the controlled person and focusing on manipulating their bodies than putting on any sort of believable show.
    
      Now, I was on the receiving end; someone was puppeteering Cox, and unbelievably, my darling Viktoriya. I had thought she was potent enough to defend herself from ...
    
      'Something like me?'
    
      The thought-speech was harsh, but unrecognizable. It wasn't Tseng, but how it tingled in my mind -- the whole "feel" of it -- was very similar. And the choice of words, "something" instead of "someone".
    
      There was laughter, but neither of the two before me were making it. It was in my head, my mind.
    
      'You are a troublesome little mite.'
    
      'Who are you?' That was my first thought. My second was more practical: 'Are you of the empire?'
    
      The Thing in the ether scoffed. A mental sign flashed briefly in my mind: a mix of disdain, regret, and obsolescence -- all directed towards the invisible empire. That was its answer, and in it, a brief window of vulnerability.
    
      Whatever force now possessed my wife and my handler, it wasn't tangible in any physical sense. It was disembodied. Non-corporeal. How the hell could I fight this?
    
      'Fight me?' The Thing seemed amused. 'You could barely fight _her_ --' a brief image of Halah came to me '-- although you didn't seem to mind.'
    
      Interesting, I thought. So the Thing knew about Halah, but mentioned nothing about Umm-Qasr. I chanced a look at Viktoriya, who swayed a little bit bit before being still once more. I reflexively pinged, and found whatever force held sway over her also kept me out of her mind.
    
      'What do you want?' I broadcasted my thoughts outwards.
    
      'Want? I have many wants, just as you do. My wants simply outlived me.'
    
      Interesting. As I mulled over the Thing's words, I slowly began to realize what it was. Some sort of psychic poltergeist, or a possessor. Paranoia began coming over me; how long had it been around? Was it lurking inside someone all this time, or simply floating out there, waiting for the right mind or minds to invade?
    
      I didn't get the answers I sought as the Thing thought-spoke again.
    
      'I need your assistance, Stanley Chen. I have been aware of you for some time.'
    
      'How long?' I thought.
    
      'Long enough to know you will do anything to save her.'
    
      Viktoriya didn't move an inch as my gaze instinctively shifted towards her.
    
      '... and the others, if you could.' The Thing finished.
    
      I made no reply as I began nudging all attention away from myself. As concerned I was for Viktoriya's safety, I knew that I was being mind-probed. I fell back to my most basic gift -- it was survival. If I was incapacitated, I could do nothing for her then.
    
      'I ... want ... you ... to aid me ... inhabit others ...' The Thing's thought-speak became jittery as I sought to desynch my train of thought and hide -- too bad it could still see me through the eyes of its pawns.
    
      It quickly realized my efforts, and it was not pleased. Hence, it was no surprise that I was attacked, but it was startling to see where it originated from.
    
      As soon as my lovely Slavic siren's face twitched, I leaped out of the way just in time to avoid being smashed by the telekinetic force she hurled my way. It was certainly enough to crack the concrete of where I was just a split-second before.
    
      That was weird, I thought. Even with telekinesis, I wasn't able to move that quickly. I didn't dwell on it more; it simply felt that I thought about getting out of Vika's way and the next moment, I was.
    
      I could sense that the Thing was furious. It puppeteered Cox, and I saw him pull out a gun. I reached out with my mind and snapped the firing pin. As an after-thought, I snatched Pritchet's gun back. One less thing to worry about.
    
      'Jesus, Vika!' I pinged. 'Snap out of it! It's me, Stanislav!'
    
      I sensed nothing from Viktoriya as she sent out wave after wave of invisible barbs towards me. I had all I could handle just keeping myself in one piece and uninjured without carrying out the obvious solution of killing her.
    
      Thankfully, the Thing seemed to have its efforts divided between controlling Cox, and having Viktoriya use her telekinesis. While I had shown Vika some of the things I learned over the years, a lot of it was intuitive; if she didn't grasp the idea, or didn't see herself using it, she dismissed it and went doing other things.
    
      All this made Viktoriya's telekinesis rather clumsy, especially if someone else was making her do something she didn't want to. For a brief moment, I harbored the notion she was fighting to take back control of her mind, although there was no way for me to know for certain.
    
      Then, there was the very fact that I posed as much a threat meant it had to be on the look-out for what I would do as well. With my efforts in nudging away any mental detection, I was now well hidden from any psychic scrying; however, through Vika or Cox, the Thing could see me easily.
    
      The last telekinetic blast sent me tumbling head over heels, but I managed to slide myself behind some hardened cover. I could hear the Thing's cackling thoughts as I pressed myself to the ground. The solid, stone granite slab I was using was affixed to the ground. Too bad it wouldn't stand long against the wrath of Viktoriya's power.
    
      In all this chaos, I thought I heard a whisper of someone. Before things came apart, I had been wholly focused on the situation before me. The faint buzz at the edge of my awareness had a signature that didn't seem to be Vika, Cox, or the Thing in their minds, so I ignored it. Suddenly, I felt something tug me. Fearing it was Viktoriya's telekinesis, I nearly got up when I heard a familiar voice whisper in my ear.
    
      "Shut up and listen, Snake Charmer."
    
      I was so stunned, I could barely contain my surprise. "Phillipa?"
    
      "Hush and LISTEN." It was Mirage again, completely invisible and on top of me. I clamped up and stayed low as my cover was being ground to dust.
    
      "Just do as I say," she hissed softly in my ear, "Try not to think about her, or him, or whatever. Do whatever it is you do to avoid attention. Got that?"
    
      "Got it."
    
      "Okay." Mirage remained in her fade. "Now just carry me. We can move out together, got it?"
    
      "How?" I grimaced as the stone let out a loud crack. "I'm not invisible."
    
      "Trust me."
    
      I felt the unseen ginger's lips press onto mine as she pulled me on top of her and we rolled out into the open. I thought I was as good as dead, but I then realized that my hands, arms, and sleeves had vanished, along with the rest of me. The world fell into a grayish gray, and a lot of the lights seemed to have dimmed in luminosity.
    
      "Pick me up," Mirage ordered as she held onto me for dear life.
    
      I did as she commanded, and it was good timing too. The rock that had hid me from Viktoriya's furious attacks was now in a dozen smaller pieces, although it was difficult for me to tell in the haze. She didn't move when the Thing had Cox take a few steps closer for a look.
    
      The night was silent, but every sensitive psychic in the area could hear the disembodied presence roar furiously over thought-speak. Viktoriya and Cox both stood around with blank stares as the Thing hurled insults at me. It capped its mental fury with a icy cold threat.
    
      'LET US SEE HOW LONG YOU WILL LAST WHEN I HAVE HER RIP APART EVERYTHING AROUND HERE!'
    
      Viktoriya took a step forward and I heard stones and metal cracking as the Thing goaded her into applying her gift on every piece of cover before her. Cox, in the meantime, was used to deliver some verbal threats: my darlings in San Francisco were under surveillance, and the team there would be given orders to apprehend and detain them. It was also a matter of time before the rest of my family would be found in DC as well.
    
      All of this was worrying, but I did my best to ignore those rants while carrying Mirage. She whispered for me to head straight ahead, then turn a bit, so we'd wind up behind the big stone in the center.
    
      "What the hell's going on?" I asked, my voice low.
    
      "We got an emergency deployment a few hours ago," Mirage whispered back, "Someone called Majestic said Champion was going to go rogue."
    
      "Majestic?" I grew curious. "Never heard of him."
    
      "Basically Brian's boss or something. I dunno. I didn't ask."
    
      "Why not?"
    
      "Because," she murmured, "he said you'd be the target, Stanley."
    
      "Oh."
    
      Despite the two of us being visually transparent, I felt her nuzzle my neck slightly.
    
      "Phillipa," I scolded her. "Not now."
    
      "Sorry," she whispered back. "It's just -- I can feel you growing hard."
    
      "Yeah, sorry."
    
      Great, I thought. One more reason Viktoriya should kill me now, even if she was possessed. The two of us plodded behind the center monument, and hoped it would be enough to keep us safe for the time being. Mirage did her best to fill me in on the rest of the details.
    
      The person calling himself "Majestic" had deployed NSA-PSI in an interdiction role. Something clearly a violation of our mission (NRO Directive 10-77) to "see but not touch". Ghost Light had displaced Mirage to DC, while he moved Masquerade to infiltrate the team in San Francisco.
    
      Majestic then briefed them on how to deal with Cox: try not to think of what you're going to do, and use whispers to get your instructions across. Ghost Light also handed out some strange trinkets: pieces of lodestone assembled into a metallic collar. Everyone was to wear one, and Mirage placed one on me now.
    
      I was wary, but noticed that the collar was loose fitting and had a simple latch. I could undo it, even without resorting to telekinetic lock-picking.
    
      Apart from finding me, Phillipa was instructed to pull me out of whatever I was doing in DC and wait for instructions. I felt her hug me again, and I reacted the only way I could, by cupping her shapely ass. I could feel her body tense up, but she soon relaxed and held onto me tightly.
    
      The two of us were still invisible but I knew it probably couldn't last. Researching her ability, I suspected Mirage wasn't turning invisible as much as she was phasing, or shifting, out of our dimension. This explained why she'd never show up in photographs (spectrographs, on the other hand, went bonkers).
    
      Mirage had remarked she often grew very cold after being invisible for over 30 minutes. If she had an energy bar or something to eat, she could push an hour, but anything beyond that made her drowsy -- like if she was suffering from hypothermia.
    
      "How long?" I whispered.
    
      "I dunno," Mirage replied softly, "Just until we get the go ahead."
    
      "From whom?"
    
      "Dunno," she repeated apologetically, "I guess if you kept me warm, we can stay like this longer."
    
      I shifted a bit and asked, "How did you --?"
    
      "I took a cue from Ghost Light," she murmured, "He said it'd be a good idea to practice more."
    
      "Ah." I soured a bit from the explanation.
    
      I had inadvertently "inspired" Reese to explore his teleportation when I dryly commented I could probably take up flying with my (then secret) telekinesis. That was nearly a decade ago. Now, this young woman caressing me was using that same advice. Man, did I feel old ...
    
      _CRACK_
    
      The monument we were using as cover was shuddering. Mirage hopped onto my back and we began moving out and away from the center stone. We both could see that Viktoriya had done a fantastic job leveling the war memorial's sitting stones and benches; now she was being directed to attack the last remaining thing standing in the plaza.
    
      As Mirage and I staggered away from the ruckus, I picked up a buzz in her ear receiver, followed by a brief flash of thought-speak from Bethany: 'Homeplate is safe. Majestic says play ball.'
    
      Mirage perked up as well, for she must have been sent the same message. So, I thought, I guess Bethany had informed the team of her abilities. Not that it mattered at the moment.
    
      The issue I had now was how do I "play ball?" I wasn't sure what to do. Since Mirage told me to go silent, I had relied on my gift to push away all attention from both of us. That meant I hadn't pinged Viktoriya to find out her state of mind, but I had a feeling she wasn't right in the head.
    
      I needed to be sure though, and to do that, I needed to get close to her without either of us getting hurt. That, and I didn't need the possessed Cox, or whatever the hell was controlling him, interfering while I did my scan. I needed a distraction, and Mirage was all I had at the moment.
    
      "Take the mag and gun in my pocket," I whispered to Mirage.
    
      "You sure?"
    
      "Yes," I rasped softly as I formulated something far too half-assed to be called a plan.
    
      "Got it." I felt Mirage's hand slide into my pocket and relieve me of Pritchet's weapon.
    
      "Okay. What do I do then?"
    
      "Wait a sec," I spoke softly as I began circling around Viktoriya and Cox to buy time, "How long can I stay invisible once I stop touching you?"
    
      "I -- I don't know," Mirage whispered, "I never tried that."
    
      "Well, that's great." I quickly decided to try my plan, despite the risks involved. "After we get close, you head to the park, got that?"
    
      "How's that going to help?" she asked confused.
    
      "From far off, load up and fire a few rounds into the dirt. Into the ground, understand?" I whispered. "Get their attention, then hide."
    
      "When should I fire?" Mirage asked.
    
      "As fast as you reach some soft earth," I paused, "but think it. Think of trying to hit Brian in the leg or something when you shoot. Got it?"
    
      I could sense her trepidation but she kept that to herself.
    
      "All right," she finally said.
    
      "Good. Let's go."
    
      Mirage and I wound up behind Viktoriya, who was listless once more, and a rather animated Cox, who was beginning to ape more and more of the Thing's mannerisms. The ginger girl slipped off my back, and slinked away, cat-like. I could sense her recede -- unfortunately, at this range, and without my gift in close proximity to Mirage, so could the enemy.
    
      "Well, well, someone else is here? You're a naughty one --" Cox's hand came up with a second handgun, "-- wh--what?!"
    
      The invisibility I shared with Mirage slipped away within a few seconds of us parting contact. That I came into view so suddenly was no doubt alarming to anyone not expecting it. As Mirage had surprised me back in Rochester, I did so now with the possessed Cox. Without hesitating, I lunged forward, both hands shrouded in telekinesis, and grappled Cox's gun arm.
    
      The big man fired his back-up weapon once, twice, thrice -- all into the air (and at an angle). My grip on his arm was tight enough that when the Thing puppeteered Cox's arm wildly upward, I was lifted off the ground. That suited me fine, as I brought my shrouded knee up to the agent's chin.
    
      _WHACK!_
    
      The blow was enough to imbalance the big agent. Down went Cox, and I along with him. I slid my telekinetic grip up towards his second gun and squeezed. Barrel bent, slide wrecked, and internals broken. The only problem now was that the Thing didn't need a gun to kill me -- he had something much stronger available.
    
      'Vika.' I pleaded one last time through thought-speech. 'Don't.'
    
      Viktoriya quavered as she dipped her head, her body language dangerous, but her gaze was one of both fear and loathing. What the hell was she seeing, I wondered as I grappled with her. I quickly risked mind-sight and found out. I was Milhail's kidnapper, or at least donning his face. The mob man who bludgeoned Melanie at the zoo was also the one who had tossed Milhail into the van.
    
      The disembodied presence must have found this from a lingering memory in Vika's mind, and used her feelings against me. And it was strange. The only way Viktoriya could've known what the kidnapper looked like was from Melanie. It was then I groaned inwardly. Vika and Mel would've only mentally hooked up for a little lesbian fun.
    
      The sex aside, those psychic events were going to be the death of me.
    
      I had pinned Viktoriya's hands, but it was already a bit too late. There was no way I could move fast enough to prevent her from applying her telekinesis. I felt my grip loosening as Vika slowly "repelled" me; she was slipping through my grip and I couldn't muster enough effort to brain-blast her, or even tell her to stop.
    
      Just as everything looked its bleakest, I caught a break. The first thing that clued me in that something was wrong was that Viktoriya's telekinesis was fluctuating so wildly, I could recover some of my grip. Behind me, Cox had must've been directed to grab me and throw me off, but he bumped into me instead, then lurched away as if drunk.
    
      When a gentle wave of invisible force flattened Viktoriya, me, and Cox to the pavement, I knew it was over, one way or another. I scrambled quickly to my feet, my head abuzz with new presences, and my heart pounding. I noticed that Mirage's gunfire hadn't occurred.
    
      That was when I heard approaching footsteps, followed my a familiar tinny voice.
    
      "Take them now," Tseng rasped. "Quickly."
    
    ===============================================================================
      WHAT DOES NOT KILL YOU ...
    ===============================================================================
    
      It was surreal -- Tseng, Feodor, and a half dozen (or so) soldiers armed with nightscopes, combat armor and tasers closed in on our little group. I noticed their weapons were trained on me, Viktoriya, and Cox.
    
      The light from the memorial's floodlights reflected in the granite dust from the destroyed stones, and those black shapes, while an impressive display, did little to clarify the situation.
    
      "You," I coughed from the dust thrown up by all this movement, "Talisman. What's going on?"
    
      "At least you remember some things," Tseng said tersely. "Are you all right?"
    
      "Yes. No. I don't know." I blinked, and rubbed my eyes.
    
      "You sound as you always do," the old Chinaman quipped to his side, "Indecisive. I think he's fine. Check the others."
    
      "Fuck you," I hissed. Then, "Where's Vika?"
    
      It was then I noticed Feodor standing over her.
    
      "Get the hell away --"
    
      I barely took a step when two of the armed goons leveled their weapons at me. I was almost certain they would've fired save Tseng raised a gloved hand to maintain the peace. The same hand made a waving motion, and both the armed men and Feodor gave us some space.
    
      "See to him first," Tseng pointed at Cox, "I want him purged."
    
      Feodor, never one to talk, obeyed but gave me a silent glare as I passed him. Viktoriya was lying on the pavement, her hair and clothes both soiled and chalky. I took her into my arms, and picked up her presence, just dimly. At least she's alive, I thought.
    
      But what about on the inside? Who was she? Was she all right? Or still enthralled?
    
      "You wonder too, don't you?"
    
      I looked up and saw Tseng had knelt down to our level. His normally stern face now seemed to have a trace of something. Was it compassion? Or regret?
    
      "Who was that?" I asked.
    
      "A danger to the empire," Tseng said laconically.
    
      'I was told there was no empire.' I slipped into thought-speak as I naturally did around my enigmatic mentor.
    
      The old Chinese looked around, barked some orders, and the armed men made a large perimeter. This left me, Tseng, Feodor, and both the unconscious Cox and Viktoriya in speaking range.
    
      "It was necessary," Tseng said quietly. "In due time, you will understand why."
    
      I knelt there, silent and brooding, while I held my comatose wife in my arms.
    
      "He will need to see her." Tseng was referring to Feodor.
    
      "No, he won't," I tightened my grip on Viktoriya. I felt my eyes sting. I didn't realize it, but I was crying.
    
      "It is a precaution," my mentor's voice hardened, "At the very least she will not lose her life."
    
      Despite my dislike for Feodor's methods, I let him approach. A brief moment passed before the trenchcoat wearing, muzhik-bearded giant stood up once more.
    
      "Cox is ee'n z'hock," Feodor spoke in heavily accented English, "He v'ill be lucky to remember h'ees nayme."
    
      Tseng nodded at the sleeping Viktoriya, and Feodor continued.
    
      "Z'he is in g'ut z'haype, but her m'hind ..."
    
      I saw my mentor darken as Feodor trailed off, and I felt at my wits' end.
    
      "What do you mean?" I asked. "Is she okay?"
    
      "When something like this occurs," Tseng explained, "the host mind may not survive the inclusion of new synapses."
    
      He paused for a moment before continuing in thought-speech.
    
      'It's not like a person with multiple personalities -- this is a case of two residents fighting for the same room; sometimes, one of them just leaves.'
    
      "What does that mean?" I feared the answer.
    
      "She would be clinically brain-dead, Snake-Charmer." Tseng placed a gloved hand on my shoulder and finished in thought-speak.
    
      'The person she was would be pushed out by the invader. Even if her gifts remain, she would not be who she was.'
    
      'No.' I turned back to Viktoriya's sedate form as Tseng continued his explanation.
    
      'Sometimes, just sometimes, the host mind withdraws, and saves enough of itself to survive. But the chances are greatly decreased as contact is prolonged.'
    
      So, Viktoriya might still have a chance. I wasn't sure how long my Slavic sweetie was possessed, but she appeared to be fine when Rachelle and I left for the White House about six or seven hours ago ...
    
      'There is a chance.' I heard Tseng's thought-speech in my mind. 'Reach her, if you can. You did us a great service today, Stanley.'
    
      'What service?'
    
      'To our kind.' Tseng was matter-of-fact. 'And hence, to me. Thank you.'
    
      I didn't answer as I cradled an unresponsive Viktoriya. I found a spot on her arm and held her tenderly. I reached deep into her mind and found, to my horror, very little activity. Bits and pieces of her life in the Ukraine, and then in neighboring Moldava, after the evacuation.
    
      I dug deeper, finding Viktoriya's mental defences completely gone. Bits of her life in America came up: her days in ESL class to be followed by dance studio. A glimpse of a lanky Chinese fellow, whom I recognized as me. And her Dutch lover, Freya too. The fun times they had at the Bronx Zoo, Battery Park, and a few other places abroad.
    
      As I raided her deepest recesses of her mind, I realized that it was futile to dig up more secrets. If the woman I knew was mentally "dead", then what then? What of our life together? What of our son, Milhail?
    
      'Vika, Vika, Vika.' I pinged endlessly with no response. 'Please come back. Please, I need you. I love you.'
    
      I noticed the wind had gotten colder as the night wore on. I looked up and saw black-clad soldiers had drawn a cordon around the site. Paramedics were loading Brian Cox on a gurney. An officer, wearing the same body armor as his men, but having eschewed his balaclava for a beret was giving orders now.
    
      Tseng was now nowhere in sight, nor was Feodor. Mirage was though, and she put a wool blanket over my shivering form, her grayish bodysuit smeared a bit here and there with white chalk.
    
      "Snake-Charmer," her green eyes regarded me with a mix of sadness and longing, "I have to go. Catch up later?"
    
      "Yeah."
    
      Phillipa removed the metallic choker I was wearing -- I noticed she had taken off hers as well -- and slipped them in a black velvet pouch. She gingerly touched Viktoriya's forehead before speaking again.
    
      "I'm sorry," she murmured, "I couldn't run fast enough."
    
      'Not your fault.' I thought-spoke.
    
      The red-head managed a sad smile, then departed, leaving me in the middle of the wrecked memorial. It was a depressing, but fitting scene, I thought.
    
      A memorial. Or at least another one. A part of me began heckling me, just out of sheer malice. Just what I needed, because losing Aurora wasn't enough. And this time, it wasn't some dipshit 'normal' fanatic, but one of my own kind with an agenda.
    
      It was enough to make me kneel there in the middle of a cold DC winter and burn with a silent rage. My despair over Viktoriya might've done something, or maybe it was the physical contact I had with her. Perhaps, it was her inner strength, or it may have been something else entirely. The moment Viktoriya stirred, I nearly shouted with joy.
    
      "Vika?" I shook her gently. "Are you all right?"
    
      The next words she uttered was one that made me happy beyond belief.
    
      "S-Stanislav? I just had the strangest dream about Pyotr."
    
    ===============================================================================
      IN MEMORIUM, PART ONE
    ===============================================================================
    
      'It wasn't what you thought it'd be was it?'
    
      Tseng's words came back to me unbidden as I stared blankly at the ceiling of the cabin. The hum of the jetliner's engines were still pretty deafening despite being far ahead of them, but that didn't matter to me.
    
      All that mattered now was Viktoriya had calmed down now, and was sleeping, if fitfully. It had been nearly a year since that night in DC, and I was still edgy not just from that experience but from the encounter just days before.
    
      Despite the chaos of the past few months, everything had been neatly explained away to a point where even I was amazed.
    
      Viktoriya's absence? That was a mugging gone bad, or at least that's what I managed to tell them. Vika, a bit dazed and confused, understood the need for the excuse and only nodded, allowing me to extend the cover.
    
      Melanie and Rachelle were nearly beside themselves when they heard me out; it seemed bad luck had struck again. It was enough that Yu-Ching began studying Taoist sooth-saying when she got back, then bugging Janet and the others to make a trip with her to the local temple in order to, "ensure good fortune."
    
      Agent Pritichet? He underwent surgery after paramedics found him at the park. From what I heard, most of him came through intact. Tseng never told me what happened to him, but I hazarded that Pritchet was either released from duty or reassigned to the currency protection division due to his injuries.
    
      As for the destruction suffered by the war memorial, that was a bit harder to explain. It was a minor enough of a memorial that its defacement escaped the news. DHS (Department of Homeland Security) sent out a feed claiming that a lone wolf was experimenting with water gel and peroxide explosives. Nothing could really explain the lack of residue -- Vika had taken the whole place apart with her telekinesis alone.
    
      And at NSA-PSI, things were in a mild uproar. Brian Cox was permanently retired for health reasons, and at least on paper, our office was re-assigned. The vacated spot of Field Operations Liaison was quickly filled by none other than "Majestic" -- the fellow who claimed to be onto Cox.
    
      We never met face to face, but I had a suspicion I knew who it was: Talisman.
    
      Speaking of my mentor, Tseng, it was he with whom I had seen with Viktoriya just two days before. It was an odd, out of the blue sort of thing, much like my meeting with him years before.
    
      Shawn and I were booked to attend a seismic safety convention in Tokyo when I got a sudden mental transmission: 'Cafe shop. Next corridor. Now.'
    
      It was an uninvited mindburst from Tseng. I was at the table with my pumpkin; we had about an hour or so before the next lecture, and we'd planned on having lunch together.
    
      We shared only a few conferences until the convention let out, so we didn't much time together in Tokyo. Nonetheless, the message was urgent enough to give me pause.
    
      "Something wrong, Stanley, darling?" Shawn looked at me with her bright, beautiful eyes.
    
      "Huh?" I shrugged off the summons, if only for a while. "No. Nothing's wrong."
    
      My Anglo angel nodded cheerfully and resumed chatting about her plans to visit the nearest Pokemon Center (yes ... Pokemon ... sigh) to buy some stickers, plushies, and knick-knacks for Melanie and the kids. Before she could say more, my phone rang.
    
      "Excuse me." I pulled out my mobile -- it was a blocked number -- and answered. "Hello?"
    
      "The cafe, hurry up, man." I recognized Ghost Light's nervous twang. "Millie and Grif are waiting for me back home."
    
      "I understand," I said simply and hung up.
    
      The look Shawn gave me was not as painful as the one I gave her, but the thoughts in her head betrayed her unease.
    
      "Stanley?" she murmured quietly, "Do you have to? Now?"
    
      "It'll be quick," I put my best face forward. "Hopefully, I can make it back for dinner."
    
      With Reese, it better be quick. Shawn was hardly in a position to know how fast, but she nodded just the same.
    
      "I'll see you back at the hotel," I squeezed her free hand, "but don't wait up."
    
      She was about to say more, but settled for a quick kiss. I headed down the corridor, made a turn, and saw Ghost Light standing by the service entrance. The Caucasian didn't stand out as much as one expected, the convention being host to designers, engineers, and building industry tycoons all over the world.
    
      When David saw me, he left through the service exit, indicating that I should follow. As soon as I went through, Ghost Light displaced me to, of all places, to a bathroom.
    
      "Where the hell am I?" I asked once we arrived.
    
      "Kagoshima Airport." David handed me a sealed packet. "Here. I was told to hand this to you. That's all."
    
      I took the yellow envelope. "How much time?"
    
      "Two maybe three hours," he seemed impatient. "Just have to take the wife and kid to see 'Despicable Me'."
    
      "How late is it there?"
    
      "About 9 o'clock at night."
    
      "Isn't it a school night?" I asked absently.
    
      "You too? Christ, you sound just like my wife."
    
      I managed a small smile, but soured inwardly. As much as I didn't like David Reese, I seemed to be stuck with the bastard. I wished him and his wife good luck with their newly adopted son.
    
      "Thanks. See you in a bit." David waved once, then vanished.
    
      For him, it was back to Stillwater, New York City, or wherever the hell he was living with his family now.
    
      This was unusual, I thought. I was generally greeted by a foreign agent or someone from the agency. The fact that there was a puffy envelope was unusual. I only required a pencil and a steno pad. I opened it and found there was a storage locker key inside, along with a locker number.
    
      KGC-5335. I located the locker and opened it. Inside was a black bag. Within that, was a rather thick manila folder. I grabbed it all and thumbed through the contents.
    
      They were medical files of two people. One, a Jyunko Kosugi, I didn't know. The other record though, gave me pause. It was Tseng's file. I snapped the files shut, looked up and nearly jumped out of my seat. It was Viktoriya.
    
      "Hallo kisa," she spoke naturally, her face relaying astonishment -- she was as surprised as I was.
    
      "Vika?" I hopped to my feet immediately.
    
      We embraced in the middle of the airport, and quickly established our mental chat.
    
      'I thought you were in Tokyo!' She thought-spoke.
    
      'I thought you were back home!' I thought back.
    
      Before we could share more, a squat, thick-necked Japanese driver came up to us, holding a sign that read: CHEN - LYCHENKO.
    
      "That would be us," I said and gestured at me and Viktoriya.
    
      He waved to follow him, and we did, both my Russian bride and I full of questions. I managed to get her side of the story: the day after Shawn and I left for our seismic summit, someone had dropped a letter at Viktoriya's studio.
    
      She didn't see who dropped it off (I had a feeling it may have been David) but she opened it. Inside was a brief note that invited her to an airport she never heard of in Japan.
    
      Despite what she had gone through in DC (I had related to her about her experience after), Viktoriya felt compelled to go, especially since there were tickets in her name. That, and it seemed like it was something I'd do -- she thought I had sent it.
    
      'I didn't know what to say, Stanislav.' She thought-spoke in the car. 'I'm sorry I didn't ask. I should be more careful.'
    
      'That's all right, Vika.' I snuck a glance at our driver.
    
      He was full of thoughts. Family, what was tonight's dinner, maybe a drink after work. No blank state. I sensed he had no intention to cause us harm, so I relaxed, if only a little.
    
      Viktoriya and I rode in the car for about 20 minutes or so. The countryside became greener and more rural; we were leaving the city. Our driver turned off the road and stopped at a small, nondescript house at the side of a grassy mountain.
    
      "Your stop," the driver said simply and turned off the engine. "I have orders to wait."
    
      My Slavic darling and I got out, with me carrying her carry-on and the bag from the locker, and Vika her purse. An old woman (at least in her 80s or 90s) had seen us arrive. She was sweeping the front of her door, and kindly ushered us into her home before she left, closing the door behind us.
    
      In the dimness of the room, I could see Tseng with another woman. I recognized the woman as Jyunko from the medical file.
    
      "You look better than when last I saw you," my mentor greeted Viktoriya audibly.
    
      Tseng didn't turn around to acknowledge us. Viktoriya gripped my hand tightly as we knelt side-by-side in the cramped room after I set our things down. He wasn't wearing his usual attire of dark clothing and gloves; instead, he was garbed in casual robes befitting a Japanese peasant.
    
      And he wasn't making tea, but busy tending to Jyunko, who remained quiet throughout. She seemed to be in her late 50s or early 60s -- almost the same age as Tseng. He spoke to her, but she said nothing back, silently eating the food being spooned to her by the old Chinaman.
    
      'Who is she?' Viktoriya thought-spoke to me.
    
      'I have no idea.' I responded. 'I think her name is Jyunko.'
    
      I thought to tell my Slavic sweetheart to be a bit more prudent, as Tseng could hear us, but it was too late. Having finished his feeding of Jyunko, he turned to face us, appearing more haggard than usual.
    
      "I suppose you are curious why I ask you here?" Tseng spoke aloud.
    
      "You're not very talkative," I replied.
    
      Viktoriya said nothing, but I could sense she was brimming with many questions. One paramount question though, was in regards to Pyotr and if the old Chinaman knew him. If Tseng was her brother's killer, she did not recognize him. Tseng looked at us, then cast a sideways glance at his charge. When he finally spoke, it was to both of us.
    
      "It has been quite some time since I told anyone of this." Tseng rolled up his sleeves. "Give me your hands."
    
      Viktoriya didn't hesitate as I did. I only put forth my hand when Vika looked at me expectantly. As soon as my hand made contact with my mentor's, I blanched. Tseng was telling us his tale:
    
      In the early 1970s, he had met a young woman who had traveled from Japan to study abroad in the United States. Jyunko and Tseng had fallen in love. Despite my mentor's wanderings, he had always been a kid from California.
    
      'Just like Stanley.' Tseng's thoughts rung through our heads.
    
      Then, Jyunko had caught the eye of a telepath, or what appeared to be a telepath. In the struggle, the woman was robbed of her mind. Tseng found Jyunko alive but comatose when he came home.
    
      From then on, he had dedicated his life locating that presence, that "psychic ghoul", and eradicating it. But where to begin? With no body of knowledge about our gift, Tseng investigated on his own.
    
      Through his experimentation, he found there were gifted individuals who could do many things. The one who attacked Jyunko hadn't been a person at all, but a noncorporeal telepath who survived many years by leaping from mind to mind.
    
      Ever hear of multiple personalities? Or the true Jekyll and Hyde disease? It's sometimes a symptom of psychic possession.
    
      Along the way, Tseng uncovered a method for disrupting telepathy -- hard radiation. Raw, unshielded, high energy radiation in large cancer-causing doses. That was the case until my mentor made acquaintance with Feodor in the late 80s. Feodor could do the same thing, without emitting hazardous radiation.
    
      Tseng's research with the radiation did have one beneficial application: electromagnetic discharges had an effect on psychics as well.
    
      'It jumbles the mind's signals you see.' He revealed plainly.
    
      'And the metallic necklaces last year?' I managed to interrupt him.
    
      'They are weaker, but when charged and deployed, they diminish the effects of psychic gifts.'
    
      Tseng continued his tale. He was not one to give in to trial and error, at least not with radiation. So, he tested his theory on gifted individuals. The Three Mile Island meltdown in 1979? That was his preliminary test. He had chased his target to the East Coast, where he thought he had cornered it.
    
      'Or so I thought.' He paused to chuckle audibly. 'I was, regretably, wrong.'
    
      His quarry wasn't there, but there was another gifted citizen who was doing his own thing. The Son of Sam Killer wasn't one person _per se_. It was a psychic psychopath using different bodies to commit murder around the Big Apple. Tseng zoned in on the maniac, and fried his presence by triggering a radiation leak. Viktoriya shifted uneasily as my mentor continued.
    
      The presence Tseng was looking for had skipped across the Atlantic, and the old Chinaman had to put in extra effort to chase it down. When he finally did, he found it living inside an orphaned Romani boy, a few miles south of Chernobyl. He had tricked a drafting technician at the local offices into keeping him.
    
      'This boy.' Tseng spoke as he leveled his gaze at Viktoriya. 'Was Pyotr.'
    
      Almost immediately, my Ukrainian bride doubled-over and dry-retched. Tseng withdrew his hands, his point made. Despite breaking physical contact, my mentor's thought-speak still droned on in our heads: as "Pyotr" the Thing was as hedonistic as it always was, preying on those who worked in the dwellings around the plant.
    
      Thankfully, it tried nothing with Viktoriya or the Lychenkos -- it knew enough not to draw attention to itself by engaging in debauchery so close to home. Fear was one driving factor; survival another. Tseng suspected it made plans to pass from Pyotr through Viktoriya's children once she had grown.
    
      'In this way,' Tseng intoned, 'there may have been instances of such things living for decades, if not centuries.'
    
      Whomever it was before, my mentor did not know, but more importantly, he didn't care. He chased the possessed thing to the plant, and triggered the meltdown.
    
      "I had thought it was finally over," Tseng said, "and then I found the agency had been preyed upon."
    
      The CIA had been experimenting with mind-altering substances with Project MKULTRA. Two of its subprojects, MINDFLIGHT and WHITELIGHT, were experiments in psychic sensitivity, telepathy, and the whole caboodle. Everything I had been researching on my own in my youth were being tested and recorded in these programs.
    
      Unfortunately, one of the test subjects from WHITELIGHT hid his progress from his testers. As he pushed the boundaries of his powers, he became more aware of his potential.
    
      "And as he did, he became more deranged," Tseng explained, then slipped into thought-speak: 'If you wondered why I was busy the past few years, boy, I was engaged in tracking down this -- problem.'
    
      The NSA, not satisfied with handling ELINT, SIGINT, TECHINT and MASINT, had expanded into the CIA's domain of HUMINT (human intelligence, or informants and spies) with our program of sensitives under directive 10-77. Someone, seemingly out of the blue, extended an offer from the CIA to the NSA to bring the two agencies' efforts together.
    
      "If you are wondering," Tseng clarified, "it wasn't I."
    
      Ah, I thought. That would explain the old Chinaman's piqued interest in that sort of thing. If Tseng or one of us wasn't in control ...
    
      'Then it is of our interest.' He finished my thoughts. 'For the empire, if nothing else.'
    
      'Kisa?' Viktoriya, having recovered a bit, was shocked at the thoughts being tossed around. 'Is it always empire this, and empire that?'
    
      'Vika, it's hard to explain.' I started the thought, but Tseng cut in and told her how things were in the invisible empire. I gulped as Viktoriya's eyes widened and her lips quavered a bit, but she didn't cry. I crawled to her side and comforted her as Tseng continued.
    
      As it turned out, the contact was made by the test subject, who had subjugated some of the research staff. Through them, he extended his control, toying with them and delving into their most perverted desires. One of the staff, thought to have been driven mad, killed the subject, then himself, but that only made things worse.
    
      It was the test subject who spawned subproject BLACKLIGHT -- the CIA program to have a joint NSA and CIA office for using psychic powers. Tseng made himself available to the NSA for the purpose of cover, and for monitoring things his way. And BLACKLIGHT in turn ...
    
      'Became NSA-PSI.' Tseng finished. 'Officially we do not exist, since we never did.'
    
      'And Stanislav?' Viktoriya dared to interrupt. 'Why your interest in him? And in me?'
    
      'In you, a legacy of a threat --' The Baltic beauty visibly recoiled at the coldness of his thoughts, '-- but in Stanley, a viable potential.'
    
      Tseng lowered his head, but his gaze never left us. 'He -- has an affinity for mimicking the gifts of others.'
    
      'And?' Viktoriya dared to egg him on as I stroked her arm gently to reign in her anger and loathing. I felt a little weird hearing that about me.
    
      I thought I was a pisonic; now Tseng just explained I was like Kirby from that Nintendo game ... or a freakin' xerox machine.
    
      'He survived infestation, because he had help from the little one.'
    
      There was no doubt who Tseng was referring to: Melanie. He grew quiet once more as he looked at the serene woman beside him.
    
      "She is beautiful, is she not?" he commented aloud.
    
      "She is very regal," I said.
    
      I had long since tolerated his occasional segueways, if only to get him to talk more. Then, remembering Vika's question from earlier, I spoke up again.
    
      "Who is she?"
    
      "Jyunko, is Melanie's mother." Tseng's answer gave me the shock of my life.
    
      "But I met Yu-Ching's mother," I said, "That's not ---"
    
      "Possible?"
    
      Tseng held out his hand, palm upturned, so Vika and I could touch him. Once we did, we knew he spoke the truth.
    
      "The little one is her mother's daughter," my mentor seemed more irritated over airing some distant past than anyone's well-being. "She has her mother's playfulness."
    
      That explained the medical records in the locker bag. I felt dizzy as Viktoriya, having composed herself, held my hand. If Jyunko's records were there because she was Yu-Ching's mother, then Tseng's records ...
    
      The old Chinaman's eyes met mine. Son. Of. A. Bitch.
    
      He revealed that in the brief lull between Three Mile Island and Chernobyl, he had come to some sort of acceptance with Jyunko and her family. She had the mind of a child, with much of her self-identity was gone. Instead of feeling sympathetic, I grew incensed.
    
      "When was this? If her mother was like that when you --"
    
      "I had -- grown lonely searching for my quarry before finding him in the Ukraine," Tseng admitted, "Jyunko's sister had given birth to her first child a few years earlier, and she and her husband were planning their second to be born in the U.S."
    
      "And you decided to hook up with a woman with half her mind?" I was sick to my stomach. "Ghost Light's right; you are a monster."
    
      "Cool your heels, boy," Tseng bade me to sit, "When Haruna took her daughter to visit her mother, Jyunko experienced a rare moment of lucidity; one that I'd been hoping for."
    
      "And?"
    
      "And it didn't last," Tseng held the mute woman's hand as she smiled stupidly at my mentor. "She gave a faint sign of recognition, then nothing."
    
      The old Chinese stroked her hand and grew thoughtful.
    
      "Her sister, Haruna, was naturally angry; anyone would be in that situation, so I did the next best thing. I arranged for the baby to be adopted by my mother's cousins in the city."
    
      'The Chens.' Both Viktoriya and I thought at once.
    
      Tseng nodded. A thought immediately came to my head.
    
      "You -- and I, aren't ---?"
    
      "No," came his reply.
    
      For a moment, I felt a great sense of relief. I tried to focus, but it was hard with so much being revealed so quickly. So, Jyunko's sister was Haruna, and the family last name was Kosugi.
    
      That sounded rather familiar, I thought. Andrew had mentioned Gracia's and Sachiko's mother's name was Haruna, and she was originally from the island of Kyushu. Their family were burakumin, a class of Japanese who were unofficially shunned and discriminated against due to family registration (the koseki).
    
      The Kosugis weren't rich or poor, but their father managed to emigrate to the U.S. to give the two an American education. Gracia had confided to Janet and me a few times that her mother wanted to sponsor her mother (Gracia's and Sachiko's grandma) to move, "if only she wasn't so damn stubborn!"
    
      "It's a complicated mess," Gracia had admitted, "but it's because my aunt is mentally challenged, and grandma takes care of her."
    
      I felt mild unease come over me. Jesus ... were the Kosugi sisters Melanie's cousins? Any further thought about this was cut short when Tseng leveled his gaze at me once more.
    
      "When I found you were where you were, Stanley, I knew you could be the one to help her."
    
      Viktoriya sat back with a look of worry and surprise.
    
      "As I said before, Stanley, you are special. A catalyst for other gifts," Tseng explained, "With that in mind, I began preparing."
    
      And what preparation. I was both a potential target, and a means of confounding any such perceived threats. With me boosting someone's powers, a telepath could've easily mind-hopped into several people at once, instead of doing them one at a time.
    
      But to make sure I wasn't subverted myself, I had to be trained and prepared. Hence, Melanie's companionship. My prolonged contact with her, Viktoriya, and others allowed me to take on their gifts, however temporary, and augment the ones I already had.
    
      "And that is why your own gifts," Tseng added, "became more potent over the years with these two by your side."
    
      I rested on my haunches, stunned, and a little embarrassed that Little Chen and Vika were rightfully the keys to my success. Viktoriya took my hand and squeezed it gently, in an effort to comfort me.
    
      "Melanie," I croaked, "what is she? She can't be just be a simple empath."
    
      "No, not exactly," Tseng said simply. "You already noticed that I am not like you. As was mentioned to you before --" he was nebulous in his wording, but he was referring to Halah.
    
      "And?" I was getting impatient.
    
      "My gifts passed to her, after a fashion," the old man went on. "While she cannot do the same things we can, she is quite a point of contention among our kind."
    
      Viktoriya and I waited patiently for him to explain himself.
    
      "The girl is an archive, a repository. She retains the gifts she has come into contact with. Because she is my child, she seemed to have inherited my mental formidability and masking."
    
      We let that sink in as we did our best to chat on our own.
    
      'That ... sounds implausible.' Viktoriya was trying to wrap her head around it.
    
      'Does it?' I wondered.
    
      "It is that power," Tseng had gone on despite what else was said in the room, "that makes her extremely valuable while alive."
    
      Viktoriya swallowed, worked up her courage, and asked, "She can't use any of that herself?"
    
      "No, not the ones she wasn't born with." Tseng's answer was abrupt and firm. "Only someone she trusts can draw those gifts from her."
    
      "Boy, am I glad I stayed on her good side," I blurted before I could stop myself.
    
      'Kisa!' Viktoriya gave me a quick shot in the ribs with her elbow. 'Be serious.'
    
      Tseng fell silent once more. 'Indecisive' was what I got from him. 'Smart-ass' was another. I nearly jumped up in surprise. I could read him. I was finally able to sense something from the man who mentored me all these years.
    
      'I guarded myself from you all this time, because I needed you to decoy that damn thing.' Tseng thought-spoke.
    
      'And now?' Viktoriya and I both thought to ask at once.
    
      'Feodor found no trace of it.' Tseng thought back. 'But that doesn't mean the nightmare is finished.'
    
      'It's still out there?' Viktoriya's question sounded more like an admission of failure.
    
      'No, but another can take its place.' Tseng looked at us. 'You and Stanley have the ability to invade another's mind.'
    
      'I wouldn't do that!' The Slavic siren immediately became incensed. 'Neither will Stanislav!'
    
      'Are you sure?' My mentor managed a bland smile. 'Death is a potent motivator.'
    
      "Are you saying you'd try that?" I asked.
    
      Tseng didn't reply, but only said, "It wasn't what you thought it'd be was it?"
    
      Both Vika and I knew he was referring to the invisible empire.
    
      'The rules,' he lectured, 'are older than I, but there is wisdom in structure. So long as it serves those who dwell in it, it has utility.'
    
      Tseng knitted his brow as Jyunko began pulling on his sleeve. I winced as I sensed the reason why: she needed to go to the restroom and needed him to help her. He got up without another word and shuffled Jyunko out of the room. But just because he had gone, didn't mean the lecture ended, for he continued his thought-speech:
    
      'In every empire, there is a leader, a person of vision who is tempered by humility and morality. You, Stanley, embody those traits.'
    
      "And?" I asked my question aloud, knowing he could easily hear me.
    
      'I am old ... and every empire needs new blood.'
    
      I didn't say more as I stood to leave. Viktoriya though, urged me to stay.
    
      "Why?" I asked, "I think we're done here. I don't want any part of this."
    
      'No, milenky. No.' She pulled me back to sit with her. 'You -- he's right. I -- I know you have no love for him, nor I! But the reasons are sound.'
    
      'Vika.' I studied her closely. 'What are you asking me to do?'
    
      'Not I.' She placed my hand on her bosom, her eyes pleading. 'For us. For Milhail, and for the others. Please stay and listen ...'
    
    ===============================================================================
      IN MEMORIUM, PART TWO
    ===============================================================================
    
      Viktoriya and I left Tseng's place at Kirishima, and the driver (a hired man, not an agent) took us back to Kagoshima Airport. My Russian lover's thoughts synched with mine as we milled about the waiting area, waiting for ... well, I wasn't sure what we were waiting for now.
    
      She had a return flight, but it wasn't for a few days. The meeting with Tseng wasn't simply revealing for Vika, but in that brief moment when she and I had merged with the Chinaman's thought-stream, the artificial barriers we had erected over the years fell away.
    
      Viktoriya immediately knew of my secret relationships with Phillipa, Halah and her daughter, and Rosalind and her band of Berkeley bizzos. She was amused, if not a little miffed, that I had left her in the dark.
    
      Likewise, I knew of Viktoriya's longing for Freya. The only thing I had to compare to that was losing Aurora. Despite all that I could do for her, I couldn't alleviate that part of her loneliness.
    
      'Vika?' I thought-spoke.
    
      'Yes, milenky?' Viktoriya was being chatty about Milhail and her students, but oddly reticent about that one sore spot in her life.
    
      'Come back to Tokyo with me.'
    
      'Oh you.' She thought-spoke. 'Are you sure? Wouldn't it spoil your little convention with Shawn?'
    
      'It'll be just like old times.' I pinged back. 'Remember?'
    
      Viktoriya permitted herself a happy smile as we both reflected on the good times we had in the old room of mine.
    
      'Well ... if you don't mind,' she started, 'and if Missus Dumbo doesn't mind.'
    
      'She won't.' My grin vanished as Reese stepped out from behind a pillar in the lounge. I was sure that Tseng, as "Majestic", was giving orders to Ghost Light. With only me in the know, I made it a point David would never find out.
    
      Tseng had said that I had the affinity for mimicking the gifts of others. Well, I hadn't spent much time with Ghost Light, but I had managed to read his mind more than once over the years; what little physical contact we had only accelerated what I could pick up.
    
      Cognizant of my gift, perhaps I could "learn" how to displace myself. I'll either succeed, or wind up a nasty mess at my intended destination. Perhaps that was how I evaded Viktoriya's telekinesis back at the memorial -- I may have inadvertently teleported a short distance.
    
      If so, that was a neat development. My Baltic beauty instantly caught onto what I was thinking and she quickly thought-spoke.
    
      'Stanislav? Are you sure?'
    
      I probably could, I thought, but Viktoriya was not having any of it.
    
      'Please don't.' She shot me worried look. 'Don't show off, kisa. I have enough to worry about already.'
    
      'Now you know how I feel.'
    
      Viktoriya relaxed once I made clear my intention not to try jacking Reese's gift and trying to teleport myself. She clung onto my arm, much like when we first started dating, as we got up and walked over.
    
      David balked a bit when he saw the woman I was with was Viktoriya, but he said nothing. I nodded his way and he nodded back. A few minutes later, we were at the Tokyo hotel where Shawn and I were staying, and Reese had taken off once more.
    
      While Vika showered and cleaned up, I made some calls to our airline and made some changes. When the time came, we would be on a flight to New York City, with Shawn heading back to San Francisco.
    
      Shawn was hardly jealous, but she was curious what brought things on, not to mention being very surprised at Vika's sudden appearance. My muffin wondered if the call I got at the convention was, in fact, Viktoriya asking me to pick her up. I had no good excuse, but my dusky Russkie took the blame to protect my cover.
    
      "I'm sorry," Viktoriya said in a low hush, "but I was selfish; a friend and I had an argument, and I needed to talk to Stanislav face to face."
    
      After a little more explanation of who Freya was, my pumpkin gave Viktoriya a big, hearty hug.
    
      "You be strong, okay?" Shawn's baby blue eyes were on the verge of tears, "Just remember, we'll all be here for you!"
    
      "Why thank you," Viktoriya's ears reddened from embarrassment before she quickly returned her affection.
    
      She kissed the plump woman full on the lips. Shawn was barely able to muffle a surprised yelp as my Cossack cutie put on one helluva lesbian show in the middle of Tokyo International Airport.
    
      That was about eight hours ago. In a little while, Vika and I will be in New York's La Guardia, and whatever happens with Freya will happen. Viktoriya must've caught a bit of my thoughts, because I felt her hands on mine.
    
      'What's wrong, Stanislav?' She thought-spoke. 'You're keeping me awake.'
    
      'Sorry. Just thinking, that's all.' I mentally responded and instantly caught her mental sigh.
    
      'You're worrying about me.' Her tone was accusing. 'Please don't.'
    
      'How can I not? Knowing what we do now?'
    
      'Well, if you worry too much, you will turn me into a babushka. And Freya would definitely not want me then.'
    
      'In that case, I'd better stop.' I rubbed her soft skin between my fingers.
    
      'Thank you.' She thought back before murmuring, "Goodnight, my love."
    
      Viktoriya gave my hand a squeeze and I relaxed, as much as I could allow myself to do so, for the first time in a long time.
    
    ===============================================================================
      THE PRINCE
    ===============================================================================
    
      So, the Thing was gone, or as much as Tseng and Feodor believed it to be gone. This would not happen again, unless others were to commit themselves to the same path.
    
      Still, I couldn't help but shake the sudden, utter responsibility my mentor had given me before we parted ways. I couldn't avoid it, because he sent me a mind-burst when I was at work, away from Viktoriya's mental prying.
    
      As it turned out, Tseng's "position" at the agency existed in a shadowy gray area; there was paperwork for something, but the budget, the logistics, and authorization were murky at best.
    
      His instructions to me were that he'd meet me at a usual spot. I thought he meant the Java Island coffee shop, but I was wrong. Instead, he sent me encrypted instructions at the Columbarium on the 9th anniversary of the 9/11 attacks.
    
      It was a Saturday, and I had gone out early to visit Aurora's shrine before I headed home to pick up Melanie for our grocery shopping. When I got there, I found someone had left a small bouquet in her flower holder.
    
      A small note buried in the bouquet told me to meet again at a Federal building in San Francisco. It was the same one where he and I had met Cox all those years ago.
    
      Viktoriya had been made aware of the empire, Tseng explained to me. She would no longer be allowed to stay on the sidelines, and she would be called to do work where it was required.
    
      'She's not trained.' I protested.
    
      As fun as it sounded to have Viktoriya on a mission, I knew that she wouldn't willingly engage in the type of operations I had grown accustomed to. And seeing me do those terrible things would not endear me to my Cossack darling.
    
      Thankfully, Tseng knew it too.
    
      'Have you forgotten?' He relented. 'We only look. We do not touch.'
    
      I wanted to say, 'Yeah right,' but I didn't. I knew we easily crossed the lines when required, simply because our kind could. If the likes of Pyotr, the Son of Sam killer, and the test subject were any indication, our kind were more dangerous than normal, because our abilities were weapons built into our bodies.
    
      I think Tseng already knew that. For me, I now faced a hard choice: to step forth and take control of the tattered remains of NSA-PSI, or let someone else -- a "normal" -- threaten our kind once more by becoming a target for mental infestation.
    
      'It is not an easy decision.' Tseng thought-spoke. 'You will find yourself at odds with those powers that be, but working separately them will brand you a criminal, much as Ghost Light was before we contained him.'
    
      "I'll say," I muttered under my breath.
    
      Taking this new position meant I'd have to devote myself to it full time. I could no longer be an architect or a draftsman.
    
      'I will give you a week's time to decide.' Tseng dismissed me. 'No more. We will need to act by then.'
    
      The day after FDR died, it was said that President Harry Truman wrote: 'Last night, the weight of the world fell on my shoulders.'
    
      That was the precise feeling I had after I got back to the firm's office. I locked the door, took no calls, and brooded.
    
      That was a few days ago. Now, it was the start of October, and I was on the roof of the condo's garden because I couldn't sleep. I was worrying over not only about Tseng's offer, but other things as well. I couldn't even talk to Viktoriya about it, since I didn't want her to worry.
    
      In the chill of the morning, I marvelled at the dew gathering on the frost covers Melanie had put over the plants. The air was still damp from the grayish fog, and the sweet smell was delightful. Because of how Melanie arranged the plants, there was a lot of open space in the middle of the roof, making it a favorite for my wives to gather after a long day.
    
      I considered the delightful morning a belated bonus for my birthday. I was still ecstatic over my gift from my six darling treasures: it was a fan made from fragrant wood, but it wasn't one of those cheap store-bought things. True to each of my wives' natures, they had all contributed a portion in making it.
    
      Melanie laid out the framework, while Jamie took an inking I had made of my darlings in traditional garb and Photoshopped it. This let Shawn get my drawing reproduced on high-grade fabric. With my drawing on one side of the fan, the other side featured a poem Janet had written. It was done in traditional calligraphy (something about love in a garden of four seasons and six delights; far too complex for me to translate).
    
      That done, Melanie took the two pieces and sewed them by hand onto the fan's frame. Rachelle and Viktoriya picked out the box and its trimmings, and on the night before my 35th birthday, I was one happy man.
    
      Shawn and Melanie had even treated me to a pleasant tune by a crooner from the 1970s named Sam Hui; those two re-scored his vocals on flute and zither, much to my delight.
    
      As my eyes flitted over each of my wives' portraits, I thought about the little rascals sleeping in late on a Saturday and immediately felt a twinge of guilt. I had not heard again from Halah or Noorah. I did not know what to think.
    
      Perhaps they had gone and born daughters, but were forbidden from contacting me. I feared I'd never know. I was still brooding when I heard the rooftop door had opened.
    
      Out popped Jillian, who ducked back inside to holler, "Dad's already up heeere!!"
    
      That was quickly followed by Jamie's, "Ssssh! Not so loud! It's unladylike!!"
    
      Freddy, Kady and Jenny cleared the steps, quickly followed by the twins, with Shawn bringing up the rear. The older kids were busy helping with the exercise mats, but I had a suspicion the boys were fixated on the pretty newcomer -- Freya.
    
      The younger children decided to have an impromptu race, with me being the finish line. My plump muffin and I nearly had a heart-attack when Kady slipped on a turn and skidded against a planter box.
    
      Luckily, the rubber padding on the roof softened the impact. Before anyone could ask if she was okay, the little rascal got back up and sped towards me, reaching me just as the others tagged me.
    
      "DADDY!!!"
    
      I nearly lost my balance as they swarmed around me, all clamoring for attention. One stage of their competition completed, they proceeded to make faces at one another until Jamie came up and gave Jenny a gentle swat on her behind.
    
      "What did I tell you about making those faces?" she growled.
    
      "But Kady --!"
    
      "Easy there, Jay." I gave her mind a quick nudge as I brushed off the dirt from Kady's bottom and checked her for injury. "They're just having fun with one another."
    
      Jamie pursed her lips and was about to protest when I added, "Just as long as you don't do that to strangers and friends. With your brothers and sisters, it's different; they're family, understand?"
    
      "Yes, da-da," Jenny mumbled and took off with her sisters back the direction they came, with Freddy in hot pursuit.
    
      "Viktoriya's so right, Stanley. You spoil them," she said as I stood back up.
    
      If Jamie was displeased, she didn't sound like it. Instead she was wearing a rather bemused look.
    
      Uh oh, I thought. Something was up.
    
      "So, who's this Freya girl?" Jamie asked in a low voice. "Is she someone you know?"
    
      Oh right, I thought. That.
    
      "Not exactly ... she's just one of Vika's friends from New York."
    
      "Oh, I see."
    
      The two of us looked over at the now populated rooftop. The kids and their mothers were coming up for their morning exercise: Janet herding the kids past Rachelle, Viktoriya, and a pregnant Melanie.
    
      Jillian and the boys helped Shawn put down dry exercise mats so people could do sit-ups. Freya, who had flown in a a couple days ago, was staying in Vika's place for a while.
    
      The Dutch girl's sudden appearance raised a few eye-brows, but since I was rarely around her, Janet (and the others) didn't have much to say. Only Jamie, thinking her friendship with Viktoriya was being intruded upon, thought it was rather out of the blue.
    
      "Don't worry about it, Jay." I grinned, "She's mostly harmless."
    
      "Hmph. I bet."
    
      Jamie hardly got the Douglas Adams' joke, but I did my best to allay her fears and nudge her back into positive territory. As I did, I caught a ping from Viktoriya.
    
      'Thank you, kisa. With all the excitement lately, I'd forgotten about Jay.'
    
      'No problems. Kei-kei does cherish the time she spends with you,' I thought-spoke, 'Maybe you three would like to go out?'
    
      'That's an idea. Or all of us,' Viktoriya was mirthful, 'Janna's been complaining about work again. I know exactly what she needs.'
    
      'Oh boy.' I fought the urge to roll my eyes. 'Please sweetie, lighten up on the partying. Melanie's pregnant.'
    
      'Oh, I haven't forgotten.' She was full of mischief. 'Don't worry, Stanislav. It'll work out.'
    
      'I'm sure it will.'
    
      Janet and Rachelle, both in sweat pants, began organizing our little boys and girls into a line so they could get some exercise.
    
      "I'd better join them, or I'll set a bad example," Jamie murmured, "You're coming right?"
    
      "I will be, after I put this stuff away," I patted the small of her back, "You go on ahead."
    
      I put the fan back in its box, then gathered it along with some sketches and notes I had been jotting down. I turned and bumped against Melanie's bulging belly.
    
      "Ow, hey, watch where you point that," she grumbled and rubbed where the fan had poked her.
    
      "Sorry." I drew my hand back and looked at her with concern, "Are you all right? I didn't hurt you, did I?"
    
      "No, it's just like a kick," Melanie rubbed her belly. "What were you doing up here so early?"
    
      "Just couldn't sleep," I said. "You sure you'd want to be up here in your condition?"
    
      "Of course!" she huffed, "If I didn't rouse these sleepy heads up, they'd still be in bed."
    
      I had to grin at her remaining a busy-body. "That's my girl."
    
      "Hmm, shek-dam wo xeen-a*!" Melanie stuck her cheek out expectantly. [* Cantonese: Kiss me first!]
    
      "I start doing that, and it'll be a competition," I scolded her gently, "You know that."
    
      "Don't I know it!" Little Chen refused to budge until I did as she asked. I relented and gave her a quick peck.
    
      Almost immediately, Viktoriya thought-spoke: 'One for me too, kisa! But after. And make sure it's when Freya's not looking.'
    
      She was next to the skinny Freya, both of them doing stretching routines to the gawks of my older boys.
    
      'Not you too.' I groaned inwardly.
    
      My Slavic siren only beamed brightly at me, and winked as she helped Freya pirouette on her toes.
    
      "Oh hey. I think she felt that last poke," Melanie tugged my hand. "Feel her. Here."
    
      She guided my hand towards her belly and I felt a little kick.
    
      "It's Suzy," she looked at me triumphantly, "She's awake and saying, 'Hello, daddy. Why'd you knock earlier?'"
    
      I was going to say something, but thought the better of it. With Little Chen, my serene Second, looking so lovely and content, I could only smile in her company. It was then, in the midst of my wives and children, I knew what I needed to do.
    
    ===============================================================================
      COPYRIGHT: 2009. THIS WORK IS CONSIDERED PRIVATE AND ITS DISTRIBUTION IS
                 EXPRESSLY FOR FTP.ASSTR.ORG AND MCSTORIES.COM. THE UN-AUTHORIZED
                 DISTRIBUTION OF THIS DOCUMENT MAY BE CONSIDERED A VIOLATION OF
                 COPYRIGHT AND DISSEMINATION OF OBSCENE MATERIAL IN YOUR COUNTRY.
                 YOU MAY BE SUBJECT YOU TO PENALITIES INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED
                 TO:
    
                 FINES, INCARCERATION, OR CAPITAL OR OTHER FORMS OF PUNISHMENT.
    
                 PLEASE CHECK WITH YOUR LOCAL LAWS BEFORE CREATING OR DISTRIBUTING
                 OBSCENE AND OBJECTIONABLE MATERIALS.
    
         AUTHOR: MAXIMILLIAN ZHANG
    
        EDITORS: FERMAT and VOYER
    
         E-MAIL: GREY228 [ON] HOTMAIL
    ===============================================================================
    


	7. Invisible Empire - Appendix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is an "extra-material" appendix to the story, "Invisible Empire" that was created in response to some questions asked during the editing process and initial read from 2010. There are "spoilers" naturally.
    
    
    ===============================================================================
      INVISIBLE EMPIRE - APPENDIX
    ===============================================================================
    
      TABLE OF CONTENTS
    
      I. List of Characters / Cast List (spoilers)
     II. F.A.Q.
    III. NON-ENGLISH GLOSSARY
     IV. TIMELINE
    
    ===============================================================================
      I. LIST OF CHARACTERS / CAST LIST
    ===============================================================================
    
      At the request of an astute editor, I am including a brief summary (or 'cheat
    sheet') of the characters who are in the story, "Invisible Empire." This is
    intended to help clarify who is who.
    
      While I have excised most of the plot spoilers, please note that there are
    still some reveals in the dossiers for each character. This file would be best
    read AFTER you've completed the entire story, or if you are truly lost.
    
      Characters are listed alphabetically by their first name, and each entry is
    separated by a simple divider. Some details in each entry may not appear in
    the story (they are pulled from background notes) but I have mitigated this as
    best I can.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Aaron Pritchet
    --------------
    Secret Serviceman who was psychically influenced to stalk Stanley Chen at the
    November 29th, 2009 incident in Washington DC.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Aileen Chen (nee Kwong)
    -----------------------
    Stanley's mother. Her first name is mentioned here and there, but for the most
    part, she's referred to as "mom" or "mother".
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Alexia Lambedakis
    -----------------
    One of Rosalind's roommates at the Berkeley apartment. Her brief affair with
    Andrew causes a break-up between him and Sachiko.
    
    Also called: Lexi (diminutive)
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Ameena / Ami
    ------------
    Faraz's younger sister, often called "Ami" by her friends and family. Class of
    2001. UCLA graduate, 2006.
    
    Also called: Ami (diminutive)
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Andrew Wei-Pung Chen
    --------------------
    Stanley Chen's younger brother, born 1982. His official occupation is a
    civilian psychologist and behavioral analyst with Veterans' Affairs.
    
    Also called: Ah-Pung (by Stanley, Janet, and Melanie), Andreas (by Viktoriya)
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Anthony Yu-Wah Chen
    -------------------
    Melanie Chen's younger brother, born 1985 or 1986 (approximate). For most of
    the story, Anthony is a college student.
    
    Also called: Tony (by Stanley), Wah-jai (diminutive), Anton (by Viktoria)
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Aurora Kwong
    ------------
    Stanley's half-first cousin on his mother's side. Born 1979. Has an incestuous
    affair with Stanley during a 1997 family trip. Her full Cantonese name is not
    given in the story.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Bethany Adams
    -------------
    A woman with the ability to mimic the facial features of anyone she sees. With
    some degree of telepathy, Bethany can fool a person into thinking they are
    interacting with the person she is impersonating. Her codename while operating
    with NSA-PSI and ICS is "Masquerade."
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Brian Cox
    ---------
    National Security Agency OIC (officer in charge) or SAIC (supervisory agent in
    charge). Officially the PSI handler for NSA-PSI (Para-surveillance and
    Sensitive Investigation), part of NRO-10-77, the ICS, or Intelligence
    Collection Section, until the November 29th, 2009 incident in Washington DC.
    
    His codename while operating with NSA-PSI and ICS was "Champion." Occasionally,
    Agent Cox had used the pseudonym, "Nick Champion" when introducing himself as
    a member of another agency.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Carrie-Ann Wilson
    -----------------
    One of Stanley's empire associates and an empath. According to Stanley, she is
    a cetacean researcher or whale watcher who resides in Monterey Bay,
    California.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Craig Simmons
    -------------
    Rachelle's boyfriend, then her fiance, after she and Stanley broke up. Craig's
    father, Douglass, is a Republican Congressman from California.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Cristobel
    ---------
    Viktoriya's dancesport partner in New York. A telepath who hails from central
    Italy. His lover is a normal man by the name of Marcello.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Danielle Chen
    -------------
    One of two twin daughters of Stanley and Rachelle Chen. Born 2005. Her twin
    sister is Janelle. Stanley notices the sisters display a degree of empathy for
    one another.
    
    Also called: Dani (by Rachelle and Stanley)
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Darrell Carson
    --------------
    One of Stanley's empire associates, a telepath of some degree.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    David Reese
    -----------
    A walking spatial singularity, born circa 1970. In layman's terms, he can
    teleport himself any where he can see. David's story is told in Steven Gould's
    novel, "Jumper" and further developed in its direct sequel, "Jumper Reflex."
    He is married to the normal woman, Millie Harrison (the movie version of
    Jumper has her name listed as 'Harris').
    
    In the Invisible Empire, David's powers and relationship with Brian Cox and the
    NSA develop differently from the events in "Jumper Reflex" but take into
    account almost all the events in "Jumper."
    
    According to Stanley, David is, "... the world's biggest bore," and notices
    that he is sexually attracted to Phillipa. Additionally, David and Tseng have
    a poor working relationship at the agency. David's codename while operating
    with NSA-PSI and the ICS is "Ghost Light."
    
    Also called: Davey (by Millie)
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Douglass Simmons
    ----------------
    Congressman in an L.A. district. A widower and the father of Craig Simmons.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Faraz
    -----
    Stanley's best friend from high school, a Shia who emigrated from Iraq and into
    the United States in 1988 or 1989 along with his father, mother, and little
    sister. Born 1974 or 1975, and killed in the World Trade Center attack on
    September 11, 2001. His wife was Ghandia, one of Rachelle's school friends.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Feodor Pinzevesky
    -----------------
    Mysterious psychic 'neutralizer' Stanley meets through Tseng. Feodor is able to
    subdue the erratic psychotic mood swings of disturbed empaths by robbing them
    of their powers.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Franky
    ------
    One of stanley's co-workers at Ferguson Design & Graphics, circa 2000 to 2001.
    According to Stanley, Franky is "pleasant, but balding, a loner, and ... a man
    who was addicted to well-hung she-males." By 2006 or 2007, Franky had left the
    building business and owned a bar and nightclub catering to male to female
    transfolk and cross-dressers.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Frederick Chen
    --------------
    The younger of two sons of Stanley and Janet Chen. Born 2004. Stanley notices
    that Freddy often "drives his mother nuts" with his constant demands for
    attention.
    
    Also called: Freddy
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Freya
    -----
    A rhythmic gymnast and Viktoriya's lesbian lover during her time in New York.
    Dutch by descent. Stanley acknowledges his wife's love for Freya, and does his
    best to accomodate her desires.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Galen
    -----
    One of Stanley's empire associates, introduced to him through Tseng. He is
    Kari's husband. Citizen of the United Kingdom.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    George Horten
    -------------
    Shawn's father. His animosity towards Stanley brings the two men into conflict.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Ghandia
    -------
    One of Rachelle's high school friends, and a member of the cheer squad. She is
    romantically involved with Faraz, and marries him shortly after they both
    graduate from four-year university.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Gracia Kosugi
    -------------
    Stanley's classmate at the College of Environmental Design, UC Berkeley. An
    interior designer and a materials and compositions specialist. She and Janet
    are good friends. Gracia is the older sister of Sachiko.
    
    Also called: Gracie (by Janet)
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Grif (possibly Griffin)
    -----------------------
    Adopted son of David and Millicent Reese, mentioned briefly towards the end of
    the story. He shares the same first name of the protagonist of Gould's novel
    "Jumper: Griffin's Story."
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Halah
    -----
    A Bedouin woman of mixed blood. She is one of the witch-seers of the Order of
    Sybaris, a coven descended from the old Bacchanite cults.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Haruna Kosugi
    -------------
    Older sister of Jyunko Kosugi, mother of Gracia and Sachiko. Her daughters
    managed to keep the woman's family name because Haruna married a 'yooshi' -- a
    man in Japanese society who took his wife's name in order to pass it down to
    the next generation.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Heidi
    -----
    One of Rachelle's friends in high school, a member of the cheer squad. She
    marries a childhood sweetheart, Jon-Peter, later in the story.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Hortense Kwong
    --------------
    Stanley's half-aunt on his mother's side. She receives Stanley and Aurora as
    house-guests during their stay in Hong Kong.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Jacob Waters
    ------------
    A robbery and property crimes detective in San Francisco's police department.
    Stanley first meets him in 2000 after foiling a robbery, and while a useful
    (if roughshod) contact in local law enforcement.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Jamie Tse-Kei Young
    -------------------
    Stanley Chen's sixth wife, whom he affectionately calls, "Jay", "Jay doll", or
    "Kei-kei". American-born first generation Cantonese woman (1975). She and
    Stanley were classmates in school but did not date.
    
    She bore one daughter, Jillian, out of wedlock with an older man. With Stanley,
    Jamie has a second daughter, Jennifer (often just called 'Jenny'). Her
    official occupation is an IT technician and data-farm/network specialist.
    
    It should be noted that Jamie's last name (in English) has been changed to
    escape notice of interested parties. Instead of Young, it is Yang. Her
    daughters Jillian and Jenny use Stanley's last name of Chen.
    
    Also called: Tse-Kei (by Stanley), Kei-jie (by Melanie), Kei-kei (by Stanley)
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Janelle Chen
    ------------
    One of two twin daughters of Stanley and Rachelle Chen. Born 2005. Her twin
    sister is Danielle. Stanley notices that the twins possess a measure of
    empathy with one another.
    
    Also called: Jayne (by Rachelle)
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Janet Kam-Ling Wu
    -----------------
    Stanley Chen's first wife, affectionately referred to as his, "First."
    Cantonese-American woman born June 16, 1972. She is the daughter of her
    father's second wife. Janet has a full brother, James, and a half-sister
    (unnamed).
    
    With Stanley, Janet has two sons: Michael (b. 2001) and Frederick (b. 2004).
    Her official occupation is private attorney at law (civil/business).
    
    Also called: Ling-jie (by Melanie), Ling-Ling (by Stanley), Jan (by Stanley),
    Janna (by Viktoriya)
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Jennifer (Jenny) Chen
    ---------------------
    The younger of two daughters of Stanley and Jamie Chen. Born 2004. Her older
    half-sister is Jillian. Described by Stanley as, "sanguine and sweet."
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Jillian Chen
    ------------
    Jamie's oldest daughter, with whom she had conceived with a man out of wedlock.
    Born 1995. Stanley remarks that Jillian's precociousness reminds him of a
    young Melanie.
    
    Also called: Jill (diminutive)
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Joseph Pincelli, Jr.
    --------------------
    A mobster from one of the myriad Italian/Sicilian crime families who owned and
    operated a casino where Stanley met Jamie.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Joseph Pincelli, Sr.
    --------------------
    Father of Jospeh Pincelli, Jr., approximate age 70, and head of the Pincelli
    crime family.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Jon-Peter
    ---------
    Heidi's boyfriend, then later, husband. According to Stanley, he served as an
    Army Ranger until 2004, then performed civilian contract work in Iraq until he
    is KIA in 2006.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Jyunko Kosugi
    -------------
    Birth mother of Melanie Chen. Her mental capacity has been diminished by the
    psychic ghoul posing as Pyotr Lychenko.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Kady Chen
    ---------
    The only daughter of Stanley and Shawn Chen. Born 2005. Stanley notes Kady is a
    trouble-maker and, "often got into as much mischief as the boys."
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Kari
    ----
    One of Stanley's empire associates, introduced to him through Tseng. She is
    Galen's wife.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Kimberly Brewer
    ---------------
    One of Rosalind's roommates at the Berkeley apartment. She is described by
    Stanley as someone who, "would be inclined to fuck anything with a cock and a
    hundred bucks."
    
    Also called: Kimmy or Kim (diminutive)
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Laura Benton-Horten
    -------------------
    Shawn's mother. After the bigamy suit against Stanley is dimissed, she is
    invited to stay in the Chen house as a guest. Stanley, at one time, considered
    the woman "a cranky old bitch" but eventually treats her like a proper
    mother-in-law.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Lillian
    -------
    A mentally gifted woman Tseng briefly mentions to Stanley for having, "acted
    foolishly." Tseng never makes light of her fate, but Stanley guesses that she
    was permanently silenced for betraying the empire's existence.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Melanie Yu-Ching Chen
    ---------------------
    Stanley Chen's second wife, sometimes called, "Yu-Ching." Appears to be a
    Cantonese woman born January 3, 1982, but in fact, is half-Chinese and
    half-Japanese.
    
    With Stanley, Melanie has a son, Norman (b. 2007) and at the end of the story,
    is pregnant with an unborn daughter (tentatively named Suzanna). Her official
    occupation is a part-time chef at the Cliff House, and full-time housewife.
    Stanley affectionately thinks of her as a "busy-body."
    
    Also called: Xieu-Ching (by Janet), Little Chen (by Stanley), Lanny (seldom
    used)
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Michael Chen
    ------------
    The older of two sons of Stanley and Janet Chen. Born September 1, 2001.
    Stanley notices that Michael tends to get his younger brother, Milhail, into
    more trouble than usual.
    
    Also called: Mikey (diminutive)
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Milhail Chen
    ------------
    The only son of Stanley and Viktoriya Chen. Born 2002. Stanley and Viktoriya
    both notice that their son is not gifted with mental powers.
    
    Also called: Mily (by Viktoriya)
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Millie Harrison
    ---------------
    David's wife. Hails from Stillwater, Oklahoma. Born 1970 or earlier. She knows
    of her husband's ability of instantaneous displacement. The events in
    "Invisible Empire" has her nearly killed in the 1995 Oklahoma City bombing.
    Oddly enough, where Stanley is tolerant of (even in love with) Shawn's weight,
    he regards Millie as a "fat bitch."
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Noorah
    ------
    Halah's daughter. She is a witch-seer of the Order of Sybaris, a coven
    descended from ancient Bacchanite cults.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Norman Chen
    -----------
    The only son of Stanley and Melanie Chen. Born 2007. Norman is a toddler when
    the story ends.
    
    Also called: Normie (diminutive)
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Phillipa Roget
    --------------
    A young 'woman' born with the gift of invisibility. Phillipa is afflicted with
    total AIS (or 'CAIS'), androgyn insensitivity syndrome. Her codename while
    operating with NSA-PSI and the ICS is "Mirage."
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Pyotr Lychenko
    --------------
    Viktoriya's "older brother" who had mysteriously disappeared when she was a
    pre-teen living in Ukraine.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Rachelle Elizabeth Hollister
    ----------------------------
    Stanley Chen's fourth wife, whom he often refers to as, "sugar." Born 1975.
    Stanley describes her as "mulatto" although her specific ancestry is not
    detailed. Stanley mentions "jumping the broom" with Rachelle, signifying they
    are aware of her black history, and all that it entails. She has two sisters,
    Lucretia and Tanya, and a brother who was killed in a bad part of town.
    
    With Stanley, Rachelle has two twin girls, Danielle and Janelle (b. 2005). Her
    official occupation is a video producer at Lucasarts.
    
    Also called: Ra-Ra (by Stanley), Rayche (by some friends)
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Richard Herman
    --------------
    One of Stanley's empire associates. Mentioned by Stanley as a marijuana user,
    and hence, not privy to certain operations within the empire.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Rosalind Chae
    -------------
    A student of Stanley's in design studio with whom he has a brief affair.
    
    Also called: Rose (by Stanley)
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Sachiko Kosugi
    --------------
    Gracia's younger sister. She is a private psychiatrist and Andrew's principal
    love interest midway through the story.
    
    Also called: Ji-Ko (by Andrew and close friends)
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Sasha Goodwin
    -------------
    One of Rosalind's roommates at the Berkeley apartment. Andrew's diagnosis of
    her behavior leads him to confide to Stanley that "she had all the makings of
    a sex addict."
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Shawn Ellen Horten
    ------------------
    Stanley Chen's third wife, whom he often calls "pumpkin" or "muffin." Caucasian
    woman with auburn-brown hair and light freckles on her cheeks and nose, born
    1977. Her brother died in an accident as a result of sordid family business.
    She has a half-brother as a result, but has not connected with that branch of
    her family.
    
    With Stanley, Shawn has a daughter, Kady (b. 2005). Her official occupation is
    a civil and environmental systems engineer.
    
    Also called: Shawn Ellen (by Melanie)
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Stanley Wei-Keurng Chen
    -----------------------
    The narrator of the story. American-born first-generation Cantonese man. Born
    September 30, 1975. Resides in San Francisco, California along with his
    family. His younger brother is Andrew Wei-Pung Chen. Stanley appears to have
    powers of mind-reading, biointroscopy, psychokinesis and telepathy, but all
    that were byproducts of his true gift.
    
    Officially, he is a licensed architect, but he has taken on extra
    responsibilities by the end of the story. His codename while operating with
    NSA-PSI and the ICS is "Snake Charmer."
    
    Also called: Stanislav (by Viktoriya), Chen-guo (by family), Keurng-guo (by
    family)
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Suzanna Chen
    ------------
    The unborn daughter of Stanley and Melanie Chen. Her name is mentioned briefly
    towards the end of the story.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Test Subject
    ------------
    Unknown "test subject" from CIA subprojects MINDFLIGHT and WHITELIGHT who
    became deranged, and began invading the minds of top tier directors of the
    U.S. security sections (CIA, NSA, and NRO). Neutralized as a threat at the
    November 29th, 2009 incident at DC.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Tseng / Stephen Tseng
    ---------------------
    Stanley's mysterious mentor. Looks to be a Chinese man in his late fifties or
    mid-sixties. He has no permanent residence, but is known to have spent time in
    New York City with Phillipa's aunt, Susan Roget, as well as in the outskirts
    of Kirishima on the island of Kyushu, Japan with the woman, Jyunko.
    
    Tseng's motives are unclear, even towards the end of the story, when he reveals
    many details about Melanie and Pyotr to Stanley and Viktoriya. His
    relationship with the mentally withdrawn Jyunko Kosugi sheds some light into
    his past, but all else is speculation.
    
    He also has at least two codenames when operating with NSA-PSI or ICS, one of
    which (Talisman) is no longer considered active at the end of the story.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Viktoriya Lychenko
    ------------------
    Stanley Chen's fifth wife, whom he affectionately calls, "Vika" and a host of
    other Russian pet-names. Ukrainian-born Russian-Romanian who immigrated into
    the United States in 1990. Born March 1975. A gifted psychokineticist and a
    bisexual hedonist.
    
    With Stanley, Viktoriya has a son, Milhail (b. 2002). Officially, she is a
    dancesport instructor and dance teacher.
    
    Also called: Vicky (by Shawn)
    
    ===============================================================================
     II. F.A.Q.
    ===============================================================================
    Q. Is this based on anything which occurred IRL (in real life)?
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    A. For legal purposes, no. I know some of you truth-seekers are wondering if
    some of the characters in this story are actual people so you can look them up
    so you can "fap" to their pictures on social site accounts. Look all you want,
    but no real names were used, except for certain locations and cities.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Q. Did you rip this off from "Push", "X-men", etc.?
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    A. Not entirely, no. I was fascinated by individuals having preternatural
    powers, but they would be reclusive and secretive about it; after all, if
    you're drawing attention to yourself, you're going to get some, both the good
    and the bad.
    
    As Stanley mentions, growing up with the X-Files instills a fear of government
    dissection, and not the formation of S.H.I.E.L.D. If you are looking for other
    inspiration, SuckerPunch's Infamous videogame on the Playstation 3 has
    inspired me to start putting this story onto paper.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Q. Were there other inspirations?
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    A. There sure were. The true inspirations are Kam Ping Mui (The Gold Lotus) and
    Six Records of a Floating Life. I have not yet completed Tales of the Genji,
    but boy, that guy really loves his women.
    
    Kam Ping Mui featured a rich, hedonistic man with six wives, one of whom is
    rather selfish and evil (she kills her first husband to wed the rich
    merchant). I warped some of the details in the story, while keeping the
    characters unique (but familiar). For example, Janet, the first wife, is
    virtuous, level-headed, and mature. Her last name Wu, is the same as the first
    wife (called Moon Lady) in Kam Ping Mui.
    
    Jamie's sordid past fit with two of the wives as being a former courtesean
    (common practice in Imperial China), while Rachelle's checkered past mimed
    Gold Lotus' own troublesome past (the only difference is no Black Whirlwind
    came back to lop her head off).
    
    What's more, the childhood to adult love story in Six Records (between Shen Fu
    and Chen Yun) is emulated in Stanley's long term relationships with both Janet
    and Melanie, although one may argue Shawn could be included (both being
    teenagers then).
    
    Lastly, many thanks go to Cordwainer Smith, who wrote the short story "Three to
    a Given Star." That was my first exposure to polygamy when studying in the
    West as a young man.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Q. Why are the last names of Melanie and Stanley "Chen"? Are they related?
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    A. No. As explained by Chapter 2, Stanley's "Chen" and Melanie's "Chen" only
    appear similar to Western eyes. They are, in fact, two different last names
    (with different etymologies).
    
    I noticed this in the midst of starting chapter 3, and that was the fix; the
    last names shared the same spelling by accident, but this is actually quite a
    common occurence, as Chinese immigrants try to find an appropriate Romanized
    version of their family names. For example, Jue and Jew are both considered
    Chinese last names, and often have the same character but obviously different
    Romanizations.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Q. Why do the years covered vary between chapters?
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    A. It differs depending on what I am focusing on for that chapter. Some of you
    may be familiar with the notions of "time expansion" and "time compression"
    where you get the feeling time is taking forever to pass, while at other
    times, it's later than you realize when you look at the clock.
    
    The human mind tends to experience "time expansion" when it pays attention to
    certain things or events. "Time compression" occurs when one mentally blanks
    out. For the chapters in IE, time expansion occurs when Stanley focuses on an
    event, an objective, or individual(s). He tends to go into an "autonomous"
    mode; just sailing through life like the rest of us 'normals'.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Q. Viktoriya's dancesport genre is described incorrectly.
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    A. There may be some errors. I've done all I can to corroborate her field with
    what meager resources I can rely on (without using Wikipedia - the sewage of
    information). For artistic license, her schedule and profession will have to
    make adjustments, much like Stanley's and Janet's.
    
    You may ask, "How?!" Well, Stanley, as a draftsman, has a lot of free time to
    do what he needs to do. Most construction drawings (pre-CAD and during the CAD
    transition) required several weeks of detailed attention. Stanley is either
    exemplary, or cheating to do the work he does.
    
    As for Janet, she and her firm sets the speed record for finishing class-action
    suits. Notice she closes her asbestos case rather quickly before starting on
    the health insurance one. Historic fiction ... not everything is fact!
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Q. La Corporacion is suspected to be Bolivian, not Colombian.
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    A. Colombia, Bolivia, they all look alike to me! Joking aside, I realized that
    after some more research, but South American is a cesspool of drug cartels.
    There are some inconsistencies in this historic fiction. Personally, I didn't
    even know about La Corporacion until the Delta Green group pointed them out in
    their 1994 sourcebook, Delta Green Countdown.
    
    For example: the movie Terminator 2 came out the summer of 1992, months too
    late for Stanley and Rachelle to do their comparison in their 11th grade class
    (they are the class of '93; for this to work, they'd have to be the class of
    '94). It's one of those things I realized, but with the story already written,
    I didn't make any corrections and hoped no one noticed.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Q. In the case involving Shawn's father, isn't there a statute of limitations?
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    A: Yes and no. I'm glad I looked into California's statute of limitations
    (criminal and civil). While the limit ranges from one to three years, such a
    statue (in general) seems to be from the "time of discovery" rather than the
    actual incident.
    
    The example given at
    (www.thelaw.com/guide/litigation/statute-of-limitations-california/)
    hypothesizes a victim who sues the perpetrator of an accident after he
    discovers health conditions stemming from injuries he initially sustained from
    an old accident.
    
    In the case of George Horten (Shawn's father), it may be argued that the girl
    and her family "discover" she was raped and impregnated by Horten when Stanley
    does his mental digging -- well within a one year limit. I was afraid of
    having to rewrite the whole section, but this cleanly (and reasonably)
    explains that near-flub.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Q. Why is there so little mention of David Reese's past?
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    A. Steven Gould did so already in his novel, "Jumper". Please refer to Mr.
    Gould's excellent novel on the teleporter Davey, and his relationship with
    Millie Harrison and Brian Cox.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Q. What is this nuisance with the Rogets in Canada?
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    A. The late Robert Cormier's novel "Fade" deals with the Rogets (who are
    referred to as the 'Moreauxs' in the book within a book). His novel
    sufficiently covers Phillipa Roget's family history up to the mid-80s and
    mentions the chemical plant fire.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Q. Why is there so much net-speak or l337-sp33k?
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    A. Net-speak is understandably not widespread, although I come into constant
    contact with it on a daily basis, including Internet memes and awful, awful
    things on the World Wide Web. While net-speak / e-speak / leet-speak is not
    common today, with the rise of Twitter and the fall of public education, we
    ain't that far off from NewSpeak as you think.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Q. Where can I find a resource to understand you?
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    A. You may refer to the Urban Dictionary (www.urbandictionary.com) or the
    always popular Encyclopedia Dramatica (Bing/Google search this one). You of
    course, can always visit 4chan.org (make sure you do this at your private PC
    at home, with anti-viral on) or ChatRoulette and revel in what the youth of
    today are spending countless hours on.
    
    Just be sure to play the "newfag" role and STFU. Just lurk. Then lurk moar :0)
    
    For the record, my English is Americanized (or 'Amerifag') English, so if
    British (or 'Britfag') readers may have mild complications understanding some
    local, contemporary idioms.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Q. Why did you use "gang-banger" instead of "gang member?"
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    A. The LAPD (Los Angeles Police Department) circa 1990s used the gang-banger
    term (and it doesn't involve the sexual act). "Bangers" is the short form. The
    current form (post 2005) is more politically neutral and less racially
    charged, "gang-member".
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Q. Why did you describe lamb meat as "noisome"?
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    A. For Asians, lamb meat has a sour stench that we find revolting.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Q. What does (insert foreign phrase or word here) mean?
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    A. I've included the English translation (or closest one) either at the end of
    the sentence, or immediately after the phrase where a translation foot-note is
    applicable. If I missed any, please notify me by email. A brief glossary is
    available in this index, and is annotated by chapter.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Q. Even if Jamie changed her last name, the mob could have tracked her SSN!
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    A. That's a possibility with the technology now (circa 2010) but only remotely
    possible back in 2000; I suppose in the confusion, Jamie's SSN may have been
    lost or obscured. Sometimes, paperwork can be obscured; W-2s and I-9s can be
    screwed with. I leave it to Stanley to take care of the bureaucratic mess, and
    trust him to look after his loved ones.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Q. What powers does Stanley and some of his wives have?
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    A. If Stanley knew exactly, he'd tell you. The problem of being both the
    experimenter and the experiment is you tend to err on the side of caution.
    
    Some of you have brought up that Stanley's powers vary, or change, or differ
    throughout the story. That's partly intentional and partly accidental.
    
    For one thing, authors hate writing themselves into a corner. Having rigidly
    defined powers (i.e., nothing on earth can stop Marko Cain, the Juggernaut!)
    means one has to constantly come up with ingenious, or unique, opposition to
    the hero. That's too much work, and threatens the excitement of the little
    known.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Q. There seems to be a lot happening at once; is that intentional?
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    A. Life's complicated. I wanted to give the main character, Stanley, ulcers
    just from living. If you were in his shoes, and could operate without downing
    a bottle of Mylanta everyday, you're one tough hombre. Besides, he wants to
    screw around, so naturally, life is complicated!
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Q. (Insert name) is my favorite wife! Do you have any favorites?
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    A. Each dish has its allure. With Janet, it's respectful wisdom. Melanie is
    youthful joy. Shawn is thoughtful contemplation. Viktoriya is both fiery and
    capricious. Rachelle is cosmopolitan and gregarious. And the lovely Jamie is
    sanguine and sensual. Here is a Chinese six-course meal one can fap to.
    Huhuhuhu.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Q. You've used the term "bugger" or "buggery" at times; you realize this is
    quite an offensive word in England?
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    A. That was deliberate. Much like how the British refer to elevators as lifts,
    fries as chips, and cigarettes as fags. Freshen up your drink guv'nor? Don't
    touch me. LOL.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Q. Were you born on XX/YY/ZZ? Does Stanley correspond to you, the author?
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    A. Actually, Stanley is younger than the author, but we're from that glorious
    decade. The author believes the Chevrolet Corvair is the ultimate example of
    American awesomeness. If there was time in the story, Stanley would've
    restored a Corvair instead of building Red Rock Island.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Q. Why doesn't Stanley use Cantonese pet names for Viktoriya, as she uses
    Russian ones for him?
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    A. It's complicated. Viktoriya doesn't have a Cantonese name, and Stanley being
    more fluent in English than she, he prefers conversing with her in English.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Q: Why does Stanley comes off as so arrogant?
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    A: Since few of us can reliably read people, we tend to be on the polite side.
    However, being a mind-reader (not simply a mind-controller) means you can
    quickly "see" the intentions of the person or people you're negotiating with,
    and can thus tailor your conversation to your advantage. Telepathy gives one
    an edge, and who wouldn't use an edge if they got one?
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Q: Why is Stanely so disinterested in politics?
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    A: Politics is about diplomacy and persuading others to agree with you. What do
    you think Stanley does when he talks? That aside, his reading of other people
    around him may have made him quite apathetic; besides, if Stanley can get his
    way through other means (up to and including psychically induced suicide), why
    bother negotiating?
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Q. Where do you draw your characters from? They are very detailed; etc.
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    A. For the record, there is a Call of Cthulhu character sheet for each, and
    they may participate in a campaign, if the setting fits. Of course, not all of
    their skills/stats/etc. are fleshed out but it does give a general account of
    what each character is capable of. The CIA calls this their "cheat sheet"
    (dossier). American human resource directors call this the "background check."
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Q. Is Invisible Empire finished? The ending doesn't seem right.
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    A. The Six Records of a Floating Life ended in an abrupt fashion (the author
    simply stops writing). I have sought to emulate this. Considering the
    quasi-historic fiction setting, I felt it best to leave the outcome somewhat
    hazy and unresolved. I wish Stanley and his family the best of luck in the
    future.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Q. May I continue writing Invisible Empire? Or use characters from it?
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    A. While you are welcome to write a story in the Invisible Empire "universe", I
    am disallowing any use of, or appearance of, all characters and situations in
    Invisible Empire. Please email me (grey228 | hotmail) to check with me first
    if you are intending to place a story in this particular universe. Thank you.
    
    ===============================================================================
    III. NON-ENGLISH GLOSSARY
    ===============================================================================
    
    Because some of the non-English terms are used again without translation (and
    in Stanley's case, without apology), I've included them here. Everything is
    alphabetized by the non-English term (when it is Romanized). If you do not see
    it here, the phrase or term was likely only used once in the story, and inline
    translation is in the story itself. All of the Cantonese terms are romanized
    in informal Wade-Giles (phonetically); as a rule, they are not true
    translations.
    
    Note: I may have made some errors in feminizing some of the Russian (I have a
    feeling 'milenky' may be more correct as 'milenka' when applied to Viktoriya)
    but I will be treating the Romanized-Cyrillic as neutral terms. Apologies to
    any Russian readers for this gross oversight.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    
    ah-guo. Cantonese. Brother (casual); may be considered the equivalent of,
    "Brah" or "Bro".
    
    bieu-guo. Cantonese. Male first cousin, not of the same surname (older).
    
    Chen-sang. Cantonese. Mr. Chen (formal, polite)
    
    Chen-tai. Cantonese. Mrs. Chen (formal, polite)
    
    dorogoi. Russian. Dear, or old dear (reserved for married couples)
    
    dos vedanya. Russian. Goodbye.
    
    guo-guo. Cantonese. Big brother (generally familial)
    
    jie-jie. Cantonese. Big sister (generally familial)
    
    Kam-Ling. Cantonese. Janet's given name (her middle name in English).
    
    kisa. Russian. Pet, literally "kitty cat".
    
    ko-nichi-wa. Japanese. Good day, meant for afternoon only (generic)
    
    kung-kung. Cantonese. Matriarchal grandfather.
    
    lastochka. Russian. Little swallow (the bird, not the action)
    
    lyubimy. Russian. Beloved.
    
    milenky. Russian. Dear one, or dearest one.
    
    nai-nai, or lai-lai. Cantonese. Patriarchal mother-in-law (formal)
    
    por-por. Cantonese. Matriarchal grandmother.
    
    rodnoi. Russian. Kinsman, or brother.
    
    sai-o-nara. Japanese. Goodbye (formal)
    
    spasee baa. Russian. Thank you.
    
    Tse-Kei. Cantonese. Jamie's given name (her middle name in English).
    
    Wah-jai. Cantonese. Wah the "Kid" or runt; Anthony Chen's nickname.
    
    Wei-Keurng. Cantonese. Stanley's given name (his middle name in English).
    
    Xieu-Ching. Cantonese. Little Ching, one of Melanie's numerous nicknames.
    
    Yeung-sang. Cantonese. Mr. Yeung (or Mr. Young).
    
    ying-chou. Cantonese. Social or familial obligation.
    
    zaichik. Russian. Bunny rabbit.
    
    ===============================================================================
     IV. TIMELINE
    ===============================================================================
    
    A brief list of events that occur in the fictional universe of Invisible
    Empire.
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    1971
    
    - Janet Wu born
    
    - Jyunko attacked by psychic ghoul around this time
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    1975
    
    - Stanley Chen, Rachelle Hollister, Jamie Young, Viktoriya Lychenko are born
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    1976
    
    - Subprojects WHITELIGHT and MINDLFIGHT proposed under Project MKULTRA
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    1977
    
    - Shawn Horten born
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    1979
    
    - Three Mile Island incident; Son of Sam killer neutralized by Tseng
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    1982
    
    - Melanie Chen born
    
    - Stanley's brother, Andrew, born
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    1983
    
    - Sachiko Kosugi born
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    1985
    
    - Stanley first cognizant of his mental gifts
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    1986
    
    - Phillipa Roget born
    
    - Chernobyl meltdown; Tseng neutralizes Pyotr
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    1987
    
    - Stanley and Janet meet
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    1988
    
    - Davey meets Millicent Harrison for the first time
    
    - Hezzbollah terrorist, Matar, kills Davey's mother
    
    - Tseng meets Feodor around this time
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    1989
    
    - DOW Chemical plant fire in upstate New York; Phillipa's parents killed
    
    - David Reese recruited into NSA; Tseng assigned a new handler
    
    - Rosalind Chae born
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    1991
    
    - Stanley first encounters Melanie at Andrew's school.
    
    - Stanley befriends Faraz, and dates Rachelle
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    1992
    
    - Stanley and Shawn become intimate
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    1993
    
    - Stanley encounters Viktoriya and she reveals her gifts
    
    - World Trade Center bombing
    
    - Jon-Peter enlists in the U.S. Army
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    1994
    
    - Stanley and Rachelle break-up
    
    - Tseng makes first contact with Stanley
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    1995
    
    - Oklahoma City bombing
    
    - Tseng introduces Stanley to the NSA and Brian Cox
    
    - Jamie gives birth to Jillian
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    1996
    
    - New York World Trade Center attacked a second time
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    1997
    
    - Stanley takes a family trip to Hong Kong and "meats" his cousin, Aurora
    
    - Craig Simmons introduced as Rachelle's fiance
    
    - Viktoriya moves to New York to pursue motion studies
    
    - Stanley and David first meeting out of agency protocol
    
    - Tseng arranges for Stanley to partake in "odd jobs"
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    1999
    
    - Shawn graduates San Jose State
    
    - Stanley proposes to Janet, Viktoriya, Melanie and Shawn in marriage
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    2000
    
    - Stanley participates in the capture of Phillipa Roget; meets Bethany Adams
    
    - Stanley takes in Jamie and Jillian after neutralizing Pincelli Jr
    
    - Stanley turns Jacob Waters into an empire "friendly"
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    2001
    
    - Michael Chen born
    
    - World Trade Center destroyed; Aurora and Faraz are killed
    
    - Stanley and Rachelle reconcile; Craig Simmons goes back to L.A. alone
    
    - Phillipa recruited into the agency
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    2002
    
    - Milhail Chen born
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    2003
    
    - Stanley marries his six darlings in Hong Kong
    
    - Andrew and Sachiko begin dating
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    2004
    
    - Frederick and Jennifer Chen born
    
    - George Horten attempts to slander Stanley Chen in bigamy suit
    
    - Stanley makes acquaintance with Galen and Kari
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    2005
    
    - Kady, Danielle, and Janelle Chen born
    
    - Stanley purchases Red Rock Island
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    2006
    
    - Viktoriya leaves for New York once again
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    2007
    
    - Norman Chen born
    
    - Stanley begins an affair with a student, Rosalind Chae
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    2008
    
    - Stanley and Andrew debauch with Rosalind and her band of sluts in wine
    country
    
    - Kidnapping attempt by Pincelli Sr foiled; Craig Simmons killed by Stanley
    
    - Stanley halts affair with Rosalind, but starts a new one with Phillipa
    
    - Andrew and Sachiko go on a break
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    2009
    
    - Andrew goes missing in Iraq; Stanley locates and rescues his brother
    
    - Stanley's encounter with the Order of Sybaris
    
    - Stanley battles psychic ghoul from subproject WHITELIGHT; rescues Viktoriya
    
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    2010
    
    - Melanie pregnant with second child, Suzanna
    
    - Stanley and Viktoriya meet Tseng and told the truth about the invisible
    empire
    
    ===============================================================================
      COPYRIGHT: 2010. THIS WORK IS CONSIDERED PRIVATE AND ITS DISTRIBUTION IS
                 EXPRESSLY FOR FTP.ASSTR.ORG AND MCSTORIES.COM. THE UN-AUTHORIZED
                 DISTRIBUTION OF THIS DOCUMENT MAY BE CONSIDERED A VIOLATION OF
                 COPYRIGHT AND DISSEMINATION OF OBSCENE MATERIAL IN YOUR COUNTRY.
                 YOU MAY BE SUBJECT YOU TO PENALITIES INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED
                 TO:
    
                 FINES, INCARCERATION, OR CAPITAL OR OTHER FORMS OF PUNISHMENT.
    
                 PLEASE CHECK WITH YOUR LOCAL LAWS BEFORE CREATING OR DISTRIBUTING
                 OBSCENE AND OBJECTIONABLE MATERIALS.
    
         AUTHOR: MAXIMILLIAN ZHANG
    
         E-MAIL: GREY228 [ON] HOTMAIL
    ===============================================================================


End file.
